


Hope Without Reason

by wendelah1



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, F/M, Female Characters, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendelah1/pseuds/wendelah1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The X-Files have been reopened. Nearly three months after her abduction, Dana Scully is still missing and Fox Mulder is still searching for her. Set between Ascension and "3."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Without Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Many people have had a hand in bringing this project to completion. Hugs and kisses go to my husband Kyle for his encouragement and helpful comments on the earliest drafts. Thanks to Estella C. for her friendship, her encouragement, and for her thoughtful and painstaking edits of the last few chapters. Thanks to Carol for her suggestions for the ending and for understanding—everything.
> 
> Mere words cannot fully express my gratitude to my friend and beta extraordinaire, Idella, who has been a tireless cheerleader, of my writing in general, and this story in particular. She has stuck with me through the first draft I completed two years ago in ficfinishing, all the way through this final version. Without her patience and hard work, this story would still be sitting on my hard-drive.

_The heart has its reasons whereof reason knows nothing.  
~Blaise Pascal_

 

**Prologue**

 

East 46th Street, New York City

 

"There has been an unexpected development as a result of Agent Scully's disappearance. The X-Files have been reopened."

Alex Krycek stood to the side of the wide, oval conference table, watching the Cigarette Smoking Man deliver his news. His posture was stiff and his expression carefully blank. The last time he'd been in this room, he'd been the one they were listening to as he gave his little speech about the danger Dana Scully still posed to the project's success. He suppressed any residual feelings he had about his part in her abduction. Emotion was dangerous here.

Despite his reservations, he'd done everything he'd been told to do. He'd prevented Mulder from saving Dana Scully, without killing him in the process. He had kept Mulder from being the one who killed Duane Barry, which probably saved Mulder's job. Following those orders had already cost at least two lives, and Krycek felt certain the Consortium doctors were not any more likely to let Scully live than they were to return Mulder's sister to him.

It had also cost Alex his career at the FBI, but he didn't want to seem petty. Overnight, he'd gone from a promising double-agent to a Syndicate minion, thanks to Mulder's spooky mind and his new boss's chain-smoking.

The heavy-set man scowled, his face set in a permanent grimace. "This is most unfortunate. This was not supposed to happen. I thought we had the FBI securely in our wing."

"A.D. Skinner seems to have been fond of Agent Scully. Perhaps this is his way of sending us a message. It matters not." This man's voice was smooth, despite his near constant use of tobacco. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, the tendrils of smoke slowly filling in the airspace, the stench adding to the already claustrophobic atmosphere.

The group's outsider spoke next, he with his upper-crust British accent and his obvious contempt for the rest of the group. "How can this not matter? Doesn't this give Agent Mulder back exactly what we had taken away—his ability to continue his investigations into our work? How is this inconsequential?"

"Mulder has no partner. He is distracted, due to grief and fatigue. He's investigating another case: multiple homicides, with paranormal overtones. Who knows? He might get careless. It's been known to happen," the Smoking Man said easily, dropping his butt into the ashtray on the side table, then pulling out another Morley and lighting it.

"So the Mulder problem is under control?" the fat man demanded.

"Completely." The smoker smirked.

Alex Krycek thought otherwise but said nothing. He had learned to keep his opinions to himself.

 

**Chapter One**

 

Portland, Oregon

"No, I am not saying that these killers are vampires."

Mulder brushed the hair back from his face again. He'd needed a haircut for weeks and hadn't bothered to shave this morning. He scanned the room. Some members of the task force appeared open to what he was saying, a few looked openly hostile. Most of the cops were just waiting for him to make his case, hoping for something to help them solve theirs.

"What I am saying is that they believe they are vampires, an unholy trinity who need to drink the blood of believers in order to insure their own immortality." Seeing the skepticism in the faces of the agents and police investigators in the meeting did not deter him. "'He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.' They wrote it right on the wall of the rooms where they left the victims, using the victims' own blood. It's incontrovertible evidence, a window into the minds of these sick fucks."

He switched the slide projector on, and signaled for the lights to be turned off.

"This was James Ellis, the father of James Ellis Junior and Charles Ellis, the founder of Ellis and Sons Clothiers. He was a widower who lived alone. His body was found by his housekeeper. He'd been brutally beaten, and exsanguinated. There were no signs of a break-in."

He brought up the next slide. "Linda Sun," he said, emphasizing her last name, "was a single, Korean-American woman whose body was found by her sister when she didn't show up for church with the rest of her extended family. She was extensively bruised, had bite marks on her neck and puncture sites on both antecubital veins. Her cause of death was exsanguination."

"The third victim, the Jesuit theologian, Benedict Stoller, was also beaten, bitten and exsanguinated. You can switch the light back on, thank you," he said, turning off the projector.

"They've killed six people in two different cities over the past few months. They have already moved on to a new location, where they'll be working somewhere that gives them access to blood products. They won't risk exposure by murdering for the blood they crave, not until they've chosen their next sacrificial lambs. We just have to wait. When they do, I'll be there on the next plane. I'll find them," Mulder proclaimed confidently.

An agent in the back spoke up, "But not before they kill again." He was balding, middle-aged, in an off-the-rack brown suit.

"The profile cannot predict where they hit next, that is correct. But at least you can stop wasting resources here. I'm sorry. I wish I had something more to offer."

Mulder's eyes felt like they'd been sand-papered. He blinked, trying to force his tear ducts to work. Damn. He needed sleep. Forcing his hands to stay away from his hair and his eyes, he took some seeds out of the bag in his pocket and popped one in his mouth. At least he hadn't started smoking again.

The bald guy refused to let it go. "So that's it? How is this supposed to help us catch this guy?"

"It's not one man," Mulder corrected automatically. "According to the dental impressions of the bite marks taken from the necks of the victims, there are three suspects."

He reached into his jacket to silence his phone, glancing at the caller I.D. "I'm sorry, but I have to take this," he said, slipping through the doorway into the hall.

"What is it, Frohike?"

Frohike sounded cautious. "We've got something for you to look at. We aren't sure yet what it means, but we think you should get back to DC."

"What have you found?" Mulder barked, his tone harsher than he'd intended.

"Chill out. You're not on a secure line, you're on a fucking cell phone, man. Just get on a plane already."

He could hear scuffling and more curses, then Byers came on the line. "We can't tell you anything more until you get here. It's not what you fear. There's no body."

"Fine. I'm on my way." He jabbed at the keys, dialing for the airline. He needed to get his temper under control or the next person who crossed him was going to get hurt.

"Agent Mulder, we have a few more things to ask you." The SAC followed him out into the hall. He looked worried, which was pointless. The profile was done. The killers were gone. End of story.

Mulder shook his head. "Sorry. I can't take more questions. There may be a new lead in another case I'm investigating. I've got to get back to Washington. If you turn up anything new, fax it to me."

Maybe he could nap on the plane.

* * * * *

Washington D.C.

"We've got something," was Frohike's cheery opener.

"But you aren't going to like it," was Langly's less-sanguine counter-offer.

Mulder felt his chest muscles tighten painfully. He'd been feeling this repeatedly over the past several weeks, as promising and not so promising leads yielded the same unsatisfactory results.

Langly added more kindly, "You look like crap, man. When was the last time you slept?"

"When was the last time you ate? You look like you've lost more weight. You're going to crash and burn," Frohike scolded.

Mulder sighed. "I'm not hungry."

Langly looked him over. "Well, you could bathe, dude. And that suit looks like you've been sleeping in it."

As a matter of fact, he hadn't been sleeping, in the suit or out of it. He conceded his personal hygiene had become a bit erratic. At one point, Skinner had taken him aside and told him he needed to get cleaned up before he set foot in the Hoover Building again.

"You're out of uniform, Agent Mulder," was how Skinner had put it.

So he'd showered and picked up some dry-cleaning, bought more underwear and socks, feeling it was somehow disloyal to be doing anything as mundane as laundry while Scully was still missing.

"There is a black box project, code name White Rabbit. We think there is a possible connection to some known abductees. Strings of numbers and letters that may be identifiers: birthdates, social security numbers, possibly dates of abductions, even the sites; it's hard to know at this point."

Shit. Had he missed part of what Byers had said? "What makes you think any of this has to do with Scully?"

"Tell him, Melvin," Langly urged.

Frohike looked annoyed. "Isn't that what I'm trying to do? We plugged in the information we had for a known abductee whose social, birth date and dates of alleged abductions are a matter of public record."

"You mean Scully?"

"No. Naturally we tried her numbers first in different combinations, but nothing popped up. No, the person whose identity we think we have confirmed as being part of this project, whatever it is..." Frohike hesitated. "It's Duane Barry."

Mulder's hands involuntarily made themselves into fists.

Byers said calmly, "Even if we are able to corroborate that these numbers in any way correspond to abductees, that in and of itself isn't going to give us much. It won't tell us what the project is or where it's being conducted or for what purpose. The question is..."

"How is this going to help us find Scully," Mulder looked down at the untouched slice of pepperoni pizza in front of him, with its orange grease and cheese that was starting to congeal. Shit. There was no way he could eat this crap. Scully would be so proud. Just looking at it was making him feel sick. He pushed away from the table and started to pace.

"Perhaps it won't. But I've thought of something that might. Duane Barry claimed he was abducted from Skyland Mountain, which is why he—took Scully up there." Mulder stopped to get his anger under control. "What if he wasn't the only one taken from there? The scope of this project does suggest that these abductions aren't random events, and it certainly could implicate our government in Scully's disappearance if we could find others who'd been taken from there or at least the general vicinity."

The Gunmen exchanged glances. Byers spoke first. "Mulder. These people, some of them could be multiple abductees, they may or not want to speak to you at all. Even if they do, you know they may not remember much of what happened."

Langly shrugged. "Plus they aren't real trusting of Feds. No offense."

"Maybe you need an in, someone with contacts, say in MUFON, someone they trust, who can get you a meeting, let you make your case," Byers mused.

Mulder hesitated. "I think I do know someone. But I, uh, haven't spoken to her in a couple of years."

Frohike smirked. "It's a her. Well, well. Mulder, you've been holding out on us."

Byers looked worried. "Yeah, Mulder, who is the mystery woman?"

Mulder looked down at his feet and then back at his friends.

"Diana."

* * * * *

Mulder was trying not to fidget. He could tell by the way Skinner was frowning that he wasn't happy with the 302. It wasn't an obvious scowl; just a couple of little lines crinkled in between his brows that was his tell. That and a little thing he did with his jaw.

"Agent Mulder. Frankly, I don't see enough new evidence here to justify reopening the investigation into Agent Scully's disappearance. If you can't give me more than this then you've just wasted a half an hour of my time." Skinner pushed back a little and leaned back in his chair. "Let's cut to the chase. What are you leaving out?"

Mulder decided to hedge. "My unofficial sources claim to have located new evidence linking the military to Agent Scully's abduction and its cover-up."

Skinner's frown deepened. Mulder shifted uneasily in his chair.

Well, it was the best lead he'd had since Krycek had killed Duane Barry.

Skinner looked down at the paperwork on his desk, did the jaw thing again. "You've refused to have a new partner for weeks. Why are you now asking to have someone assigned to the division? Why her?"

Mulder didn't trust anyone the FBI might throw in his path, especially after Krycek. Wasn't that obvious?

"I trust Agent Fowley's judgment and her integrity. I trust her investigative skills. She has a background in parapsychology. Look, you said it yourself, Sir, I'm tired, I've been under a lot of stress. I'm going to get sloppy. I trust Diana to watch my back. I'm not going to give up on finding Scully. The men that took her, they want me to give up."

Skinner's forehead furrow relaxed. Mulder was going to get the approval.

"Fine. I'll speak with her boss about having Agent Fowley temporarily reassigned back to Washington, but I won't make it mandatory. You're going to have to be the one to convince her."

He could do that, he was certain of it. Over the phone, it would be too easy for her to refuse him. He would have to see her in person.

"One more thing, Agent Mulder. Working with you on the X-Files may have cost your partner her life. Make sure that Agent Fowley understands how dangerous this job you are offering her really is. You're dismissed."

Bastard. Fucked up as it was to hear, he knew Skinner spoke the truth. What made it even more fucked up, it was a truth he knew he'd have to ignore.

 

**Chapter Two**

 

The United Airlines 6:00 p.m. flight to Munich was nearly full but with a combination of frequent flyer miles and flirting with the boarding agent, Mulder had managed to get himself upgraded to first class. Thank God for that: between the flight time and the plane change to Berlin, he'd be in transit well into the next day. He yawned and leaned back in his seat.

A few months before she left him, he'd received the approval for the new X-Files division, thus answering the question: can you have a division with only one agent assigned. He had been absorbed with the X-Files since he'd found them, working the cases on his own time, sometimes with Diana's help, but more often than not alone. At the time, he had enjoyed the autonomy and relished the solitude. While technically still part of Violent Crime, he reported directly to Blevins.

Mulder hadn't expected to lose contact with Diana after she had left him for her new assignment. They had corresponded for nearly a year; during that time she had contacted individuals in a dozen Mufon chapters through Europe, just as she had in the States. Although her interest wasn't as personal, he believed she was committed to the work. Over time, the frequency of her calls and emails had dropped off and then stopped. His occasional attempts to contact her had gone unanswered and he figured he should take the hint.

He was still smoking, though trying to quit, when he first met her, back when he was just a year or so out of Quantico. He had gone into the bar at Casey's, where his BSU colleagues liked to hang out, drinking, smoking and trying to dull their pain. She was sitting alone, nursing a glass of red wine, smoking. She was a tall brunette, and okay, he did like tall brunettes, so he decided to sit down, try a little conversation. First, he had asked her for a cigarette; after she had complied, smiling, he had asked her for a light.

"Sure, I'm easy."

"Sounds promising," he'd said, as he'd leaned in to let her light the pilfered cigarette.

She'd laughed, and flirted, and so had he. But she wasn't easy in the end, not really. Not at all.

She'd seemed soft in all of the places that Phoebe had been unyielding, easy to talk to, about his life and his work. With Phoebe, every conversation had ended up being about her needs: for attention, for sex, for game-playing. Everyday life with her was hell but at the time the sex more than made up for it. She pushed him out his comfort zone, every encounter felt like a test. He couldn't say no to her then; sometimes he wondered if he could even now.

Except for her abrupt departure, his life with Diana had been serene, even-keeled. Sex with Diana was comforting. She liked it best in the missionary position but was willing to try new things. She came easily and often. She liked sharing a smoke after sex. They were lovers first, then friends, as he began to let her into his life. They moved in together, right before he discovered the X-files.

As his fascination with the paranormal grew, paradoxically hers seemed to cool. He wanted to talk to her about the X-files; she wanted to know why they were so important to him. He was first puzzled and then irritated; after all, she knew about Samantha. She was the one who told him about Werber, and convinced him to undergo regression hypnosis in the first place.

He wanted to talk, but she wouldn't tell him what was wrong. He knew she was withdrawing from him, but there didn't seem to be any way to fix it, short of abandoning his search for Samantha.

One rainy Saturday morning, she told him that she'd requested a transfer and was leaving for Europe to take part in covert anti-terrorism operations.

"You don't need what I have to give you, Fox," she had told him as she was packing the last of her suitcases. "You don't want a lover or a friend, you want an acolyte, someone who will follow you anywhere you want to go and tell you what you want to hear. That's not who I am." She snapped the case closed and called for a cab.

She was wrong about the last part, at least he hoped she was. He thought back to another day in the not so distant past. He had just been informed that he'd been assigned a new partner, a young woman, a scientist, who he was convinced was being sent to debunk his work. To spy on him. After he'd finished his drink, he had left the bar and walked out into the hazy sunlight. He had taken a cigarette from the pack in his jacket, lit it and inhaled, exhaled. For a minute, he'd watched the ashes build up at the end of the smoke. Then he'd dropped the cigarette and ground it out under his heel. After a moment's hesitation, he'd tossed the soft-pack, too. Ashes to ashes.

The following week, Dana Scully walked into his basement office.

 

Berlin, Germany

Mulder found Diana living in her old neighborhood, though at a new address. He spotted her at the local cafe, drinking a glass of wine, smoking a cigarette and perusing what he presumed was a German newspaper. She was wearing a white blouse, a navy blue skirt, a tailored leather jacket and sensible heels. She looked just as he remembered, though maybe a bit thinner, her hair a richer brown, still carefully styled, loose and to her shoulders. He tried not to stare at her. Her full breasts looked just the way he remembered them, too.

When she left the cafe, he followed her back to her apartment and watched her enter the building. He waited until he saw a light switch on in the corner apartment on the third floor, then entered through the courtyard gate, and up the backstairs. He knocked firmly, trying to convey in gesture the confidence he didn't feel. Whether she wanted him there or not, he was back in her life.

Diana stood in the doorway for a few moments longer than was comfortable for Mulder. She had changed from her skirt and heels into jeans, leaving her shirttail untucked and her feet bare.

"Come in, Fox."

"You look great, Diana. How are you?" The speech he had planned had gone straight out of his head, whether from fatigue or nerves, he wasn't sure.

"Go ahead and sit down, I'll make us some tea. Or maybe you'd prefer a glass of wine?"

"Sure. Wine sounds great." Tea? Since when did Diana drink tea?

He looked around the apartment, noting the new sofa and the antique rocking chair. Bookcases lined one entire wall. Had she purchased all of these since her move, or shipped her collection? All of the familiar titles were there. He spotted one he recognized and pulled it out. "Crime and Punishment" which she insisted was a better book than "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." God, that was one of the things he loved about Scully: her lowbrow taste in reading. On the rare occasions she did read something that wasn't about cutting up dead body parts in new and useful ways, she liked crime novels and chick lit. The apartment felt warm and welcoming even if Diana looked non-committal.

"Try this, it's similar to a Pinot Noir." She handed him his glass then went back into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with a cup of tea, which she placed on the end table on her side of the sofa. Mulder sat down on the opposite end, and took a sip from the wine glass, then set it aside.

"It's been what, two years? I'm assuming this isn't just a social call." Diana's tone was even, her face neutral.

Trust Diana to cut to the chase. Mulder felt more nervous than he'd expected. "I guess you wouldn't believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop in?"

"I know you were assigned a partner last year. She was kidnapped and has been missing for over two months." She inclined her head. "I know you too well to think you've given up on finding her."

Mulder was relieved. She understood why he had to come. He rubbed his eyes, then tried to stifle a yawn. "Yeah, she's been missing since August 11th. I was kicked off the official investigation after the suspect was found dead while in my custody," he said bitterly.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Diana asked in a more conciliatory tone.

Mulder sighed. "Yeah, sure. How much do you already know?"

"Very little really. Just the routine Bureau gossip," she admitted.

When it came down to it, there wasn't much to tell, just the same three things he'd been obsessed with since he'd missed Scully's phone call back in August. She'd been taken from him, she was still missing, and he was to blame.

"What you haven't said is why you're here. What do you want from me?"

Diana looked unhappy. He guessed he couldn't blame her for that.

"Your supervisor hasn't said anything to you? I need your help to contact women in MUFON groups back in the states, specifically in and around where Scully was taken. Unofficial sources..."

"You mean the Gunmen," she said, giving a decent imitation of Scully's eyebrow arch.

"Yes. One of their hacker friends uncovered information about a blackbox project, which they've linked to Duane Barry. I want to contact other abductees in the area to see if any of them match the data we've uncovered. I'm hoping what they can tell me about what happened to them can provide a new lead into Scully's disappearance. Now that I've said it aloud, does it even make sense?"

Diana sat forward. "Maybe it does. But why don't you contact them yourself? Why do you need my help?"

"You've worked with this group in the past, you may have even helped regress some of them. They've been hurt, but they know you, they trust you. I think, I think the same people who took those women--" He knew how paranoid he sounded to most people but he trusted Diana would understand. "These people are a secret group operating within our government and our military, whose purpose is still unclear to me. I believe that the men who took Scully may be the same men who took Samantha."

"So you aren't just looking for your partner. You are also looking for your sister."

Mulder stared up at the ceiling, leaned back and closed his eyes.

It was still dark when Mulder woke up. He was stretched out across Diana's sofa, his head cradled on an afghan he recognized from their old apartment. Her mother had crocheted it for them. The colorful afghan and the rocking chair in the corner by the fireplace were things he remembered from when he and Diana had lived together. Despite their breakup, he still felt very connected to her. He felt safe. She knew all of his secrets, or most of them. He thought she'd be surprised at the extent of his interest in pornography. Perhaps it had gotten a little out of control, but he wasn't hurting anyone by zoning out in front of the boob tube (haha!) watching the latest imitation of "Debbie Does Dallas." He wasn't only protecting himself by staying out of serious relationships.

Except Scully, his inner voice mocked him, can't forget about her. Yeah, but at least until that one night in Boston, he'd managed to keep things professional with her. Last names only, just like on fucking NYPD Blue. There was little temptation to get too relaxed in the Motel Six clones he'd booked them into. On their very first case together that night in Bellefleur, he had told her that only the search for Samantha really mattered, that getting a life would have to wait. Until recently, he hadn't even cared. The work was enough, especially after Scully was assigned to the X-Files.

In a way, she had made his job harder, not only because she challenged him constantly, but also because he had to think about how his pursuit of the truth at all costs would affect her. Her reputation. Her career. Her safety.

He really didn't care about the danger to himself. Of course, he didn't want to die, but without Scully to protect (and how she would howl if she were here listening in to this inner monologue) there was no question he would take more risks. Hell, he might have died more than once had she not been there to save him.

Foolishly, he had thought he was the one who was most at risk from his involvement with the X-files. Despite the warnings from Deep Throat and from X, he never really believed he was risking her life as well. In the worst possible way, his instincts had proved to be wrong. His arrogance was unforgivable.

At least Diana was out of his life and safer for it, he was certain. He would do his best to make sure that this investigation was conducted discreetly to keep her that way.

He stretched, then stood up and walked toward what he assumed was the hallway leading to her bathroom. Through her bedroom doorway, he spotted Diana, peering through her curtains. She motioned for him to be quiet and come toward her. He stood pressed up against her, looking out at the street.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"I'm not certain, but I think the man in the black BMW is watching my apartment. He's been there since shortly after you arrived. Those binoculars he keeps pulling out are hi-powered and he's wearing a head set, too."

"Subtle," Mulder murmured in her ear.

Diana stiffened. "Maybe he's not trying to be subtle. Maybe he's trying to let you know you're being watched. You flew under your own passport, didn't you? You can't stay here."

His flight had official approval, complete with paperwork. He figured using his own identity added little risk. "Come with me then, back to the States. Tell your supervisor you have a family emergency. We can keep this off the books for a while. Skinner can tell your boss what happened." He put his hands on her upper arms and drew her back toward his chest. "Please, I need you on this. I'll call my friends and arrange your airfare. I'll lose this guy, we'll meet back in D.C. and start checking out my lead." He felt her suck in her breath.

"Diana, I don't think I can do this alone. If I wasn't so tired, I never would have led this guy to you, you know that." He closed his eyes and waited. Diana turned and placed her hands on his chest, pushing him back gently.

"Okay. I'll do what I can to get back to Washington, but you need to know I have my own reasons for doing this. Oh, don't deny it, you came because you knew you could use my feelings for you to get me to help you." She looked a bit rattled, but quickly regained her composure.

There was nothing he could say. Everything she said was true.

She closed her eyes. "There is nothing more to be done about it now." She held out her hand. "Come to bed, Fox. You look as though you haven't slept in weeks."

Lying next to her, her arms around his waist, he at last fell deeply asleep, dreaming about being on Skyland Mountain, looking up into the dark empty sky, searching, always searching for Scully.

 

**Chapter Three**

 

New York, New York

Instead of flying back to Washington, at the last minute Mulder elected to layover in New York; after all, it would be easier to lose surveillance in the city. He could meet up with Diana the next morning in D.C. Since he was in town, he thought he would try to contact a friend who was now living in Manhattan. He took a cab from JFK to her neighborhood on the Upper Westside and settled himself into a booth in the small deli in the building across from her high-rise apartment. He had called and left a message on her machine but hadn't heard back.

He had met Marie while at Oxford where her subject was Modern Languages. They had renewed their acquaintance sometime after he had joined the FBI when she moved to Washington to attend graduate school at Georgetown. Carol Marie Roberts was fluent in English, Spanish and Russian. She was bright and idealistic, a staunch Republican, and very hot. Their relationship, such as it was, consisted principally of fighting over conspiracy theories and fucking. They were both busy, neither of them was in love, and the sex was great.

Whenever she called him, and it was rare that their paths crossed otherwise, they connected on a basic level. He liked that. Right now he needed it. He hoped she wasn't seeing anyone yet in New York, but even if she was, he figured he could crash at her place. He tried her number again and this time she answered and invited him to stay.

"Agent Mulder." She beckoned him into the apartment.

"At your service." They embraced, kissed briefly then he began worrying a spot on her neck that he knew got her going.

She laughed and pushed him away. "Hey! Slow down. Tell me how you've been, what has it been now, three months?"

"You wound me. It's been six months at least. You've been up here since June. You never write, you never call, what's a boy to think?" Mulder teased.

"I guess you're just my pretty fuck-toy, huh? Do you want something to drink, babe? Have you eaten yet? How 'bout I make you a sandwich?" She stopped talking and looked at him.

"Fox. What's wrong? Has something happened?"

Suddenly Mulder felt restless. "I had something at Sy's while I was waiting for you to get home. Whatever you have that's cold is fine, thanks."

"All I have is sweet tea. I hope that's okay."

Marie was from North Carolina: of course she had sweet tea. She walked to the refrigerator and came back with a pitcher, two glasses and some extra ice.

"Now give, Fox. What the hell is going on?"

He took a sip of the syrupy sweet drink. _If there's iced tea in that bag, it must be love._ Okay, so maybe he had been a little angry at Scully. Practically everyone on the planet except her called him "Fox" and she knew it.

"It's Scully, my partner at the Bureau. Former partner. The Bureau closed down the X-Files, and split us up about six months ago. Anyway, she was abducted over two months ago." God, should he even be telling her this? Marie wasn't a believer.

"Fox. I'm so sorry. You should have told me sooner." Marie tried to take his hand but he shook her off.

"See, I'm certain that she was kidnapped as part of a secret government conspiracy, possibly by a branch of the military which is conducting illegal experiments on an unsuspecting populace. The trail has gone cold, the official search all but called off. Oh, and it's entirely my fault she was taken." The opening was a little weak but he always finished with a flourish.

Just the word "government" alone was enough to set Marie off, and he'd just uttered the trifecta of triggers: secret government conspiracy. He was in for it now and he just wasn't in the right frame of mind for this.

"Of course it's your fault. The fate of the entire planet rests on your shoulders. Why on earth would you think that? And the military? What would they want with Agent—?" She got flustered for a moment.

"Scully," he supplied, putting his hands on his temples, massaging in slow circles.

"Agent Scully, thank you. What possible military objective could be served by the kidnapping of a federal agent?"

The funny thing was this was exactly what Scully would be saying if she were sitting there on the sofa instead of Marie. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't have come. "Fuck if I know, but it happened, alright! I was there!" Abruptly, Mulder stood up and bumped the coffee table, overturning the iced tea glass.

She stared at him, then got up and walked into the kitchen. She reappeared carrying a roll of paper towels and began mopping up the spill.

"God, I, can we just...I'm sorry...I shouldn't have come. Look, it's not that late, I can probably still get on a flight back to Washington." He picked up his overnight bag and forced a smile. "Listen, I wish...I'm not very good company right now." There was an edge of anger there that he couldn't completely hide.

"Fine. Of course. I'm sorry about your partner." Marie walked over to him but didn't try to touch him. "You don't have to leave like this."

 _No. I do._ "I'll call you when this is all over." He carefully closed her door and starting dialing the airline.

* * * * *

Alex hated to be waked up in the middle of the night. It was never good news. He struggled to his feet and crossed the room to where he'd left his cell phone on the charger. He answered on the fourth ring.

"Krycek."

"Alex. So nice of you to finally pick up. I have a job for you."

 _Fuck._ It was the Smoking Man. "I figured as much, as it's pretty late for a social call. What is it?"

"Mulder is back from his little European vacation. He needs to be sent a message, don't you think?" The call ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Alex stifled a groan. He hated this shit. Was he going to have to spend the rest of his life trying to keep Mulder from sticking his nose where it didn't belong? Frankly, Krycek preferred working under Mulder: the scenery was certainly better, though if given a choice now, he'd probably rather kill Mulder than fuck him.

What a slut Mulder was, going straight from Fowley's bed to the Roberts girl's. Alex had to wonder if Diana knew about Marie, knew Mulder was still banging her when the opportunity presented itself, if she'd still be on that plane to DC.

Maybe he could somehow arrange to fuck Mulder and then kill him.

* * * * *

It had been a while since Mulder had slept in an airport waiting room. Or, in this case, not slept. He was able to get on the 5:30 a.m. shuttle on standby though, and it wasn't as though he would have slept all that much if he had spent the night at Marie's place.

Prior to boarding, he placed a call to Diana before he remembered that normal people were not necessarily awake at that hour. The switchboard put the call through and she answered it on the first ring.

"Hello, Fox. Where are you calling from?" Diana sounded awake and alert. Good. He needed her to keep a clear head.

"I'm at La Guardia, just waiting to board. I'll meet you for breakfast, then we can head over to the Gunmen's place."

Mulder hung up, feeling a little guilty. Well, there was no reason for Diana to know he and Marie still slept together occasionally.

 

Alexandria, Virginia

The Morrison House was an excellent choice for Diana, Mulder thought: classy, well-kept, discreet and quiet. It also had excellent security.

"I'm here to see Diana Fowley," he informed the desk clerk.

"Certainly, sir. You're Mr. Mulder? She's in room 405 and has been expecting you. Do you have any other luggage?"

"Oh, no. I'm not going to be staying with Miss Fowley. She's here on business. We're colleagues." Not that it's any of your business.

"Of course, sir. Would you like me to keep that for you at the desk then?" the agent said, glancing at Mulder's overnight bag.

"Fine. I'll just see myself up." Okay. No need to panic. This is business. Strictly business.

Diana certainly looked all business when she opened the door, in her elegant black suit, polished down to the tips of her tastefully neutral nail lacquer. Hair in loose waves, just the way he liked it, though he had to remind himself this was not for his benefit. He schooled his features into a carefully neutral mask.

"Hello, Fox. Let me grab my coat and briefcase and we can be on our way. Have you some place in mind?"

Mulder touched her shoulder gently. "How would you feel about room service? I'm not quite ready to face the day—I need to stop off at my apartment to change clothes and—"

Diana took his hand off her shoulder. "You didn't spend the night at your apartment."

"No. To try to throw off surveillance, I flew into New York, thinking I could crash at a friend's place. I ended up spending the night in the airport instead." Luckily, she let it pass and agreed to eat in before they headed for his apartment.

 

42 Hegel Place

"Sorry. I've not been around much," Mulder muttered, looking around at the disarray. "I'll change and shave and we can get on our way."

"What happened to your bed?" Diana peered into the room that had slowly turned into a storage facility after she'd left. "I guess I don't have to ask if you're seeing anyone."

Mulder decided to ignore that. "You didn't say how you liked the Morrison House," he offered instead. He finished shaving, rinsed his face, ran his fingers through his hair, then dressed quickly.

"It's fine. I certainly didn't expect you to put me up in anything that elegant," she replied.

"Yeah. It is a nice place. Convenient to my neighborhood, obviously, and you just deserved something nicer than the usual rattrap the Bureau would reimburse for. The security is top notch, too. You'll be safe there."

"Fox. I am a trained agent."

Diana sounded bemused. He grabbed his wallet and shoved the dresser a little harder than necessary. "Really? Well, so is Scully. It didn't help keep her safe, now did it?"

Diana stood back, waiting. Fuck it. "Sorry."

He closed his eyes. Who was he kidding? Safe. He couldn't keep Scully safe. He sure as hell couldn't keep Samantha safe.

No one who got close to him was ever going to be safe.

 

**Chapter Four**

 

They huddled around the Gunmen's kitchen table, printouts of the files the Anonymous Hacker had found covering its surface.

Diana looked up from her pile of prints. "There are a lot of numbers here. What makes you so certain that any of them are connected to people, let alone known abductees?"

"Call it a hunch." Mulder sighed. He wasn't used to having Diana question him, but maybe that wasn't a bad thing, given how suspect his judgment had been so far. Just thinking about how he'd been played by Krycek...

Byers interjected, "Diana, we have already verified that one section of the number sequence references specific people, what we need to know is if we have the right people. The right project."

Diana looked skeptical. "Why do you need my help to contact them? Surely with your contacts and resources you can identify who these people are?"

Mulder nodded. "That's true. But I can't begin to understand what the rest of it means, not without interviewing them. The best I can do is speculation." He chewed on his pencil. "How many MUFON chapters are there in Virginia, Diana?"

Diana demurred, "I'm not really current on that figure."

"Well, then, how about when you were?" Mulder prodded.

"In 1990, there were only a few dozen groups nationwide. The last I knew, there are nearly one hundred, with fifteen in the mid-Atlantic region."

"I'll print out the most recent information for you about the Virginia chapter, the contact info and so on," Langly offered.

Diana said slowly, "I've got some of my old files and notes from prior clients but they are pretty out of date. I'll need to get in touch with the chapter leadership to try to get names and phone numbers, especially if they know of any recent returnees. Anyone who is claiming to be recently returned would have to be a multiple because a first timer wouldn't have been able to process the experience, let alone find their way to a MUFON chapter, not in such a short time frame, not unless they were being abducted in tandem with other friends and family." She stopped. "Even if we get the names and social security numbers verified, that doesn't leave us much to work with."

Why was Diana putting up so many road-blocks? Mulder frowned and ran his hands through his hair. "We're going to have to interview them, use hypnosis if we can get permission. We have to treat them as potential witnesses. Scully's been missing since August 11th, it's now October the twenty-second. If she was being held at the same time, someone might even recognize her. If we could verify that she's still alive, I can try to get Skinner to direct more resources toward her case. We need hard data..." He faltered for a moment. This wasn't his strength, damn it. "We need hard data to back up our allegations. If I get something I can take back to Skinner, if I can convince him that we have enough, with the additional manpower, maybe we can..."

Langly interrupted,"Take on the combined might of the military and a shadow government?"

Diana looked down at her hands. "I want to help. I think we all want what you want, Fox. But this really doesn't make a lot of sense."

Mulder stood up, pushing back his chair and toppling it in the process. "Stop it. I can't hear this. I need your help. I refuse to believe this search is hopeless, that she's gone for good. Most abductees are returned. Scully will be too." He walked out of the kitchen into their living area and slumped back on the Gunmen's comfortable sofa.

Diana said in a low tone, "I've never seen him like this."

Langly sounded disgusted. "He needs to chill."

"Yeah, well, he needs to sleep. He's been running on fumes for weeks," Frohike said.

Byers picked the chair up and set it back in its place. "Mulder, you know we're on your side. Diana, let's start with the Virginia chapters. We'll try to set up some interviews so that you and Mulder can begin your investigation." He turned back to Mulder. "In the meantime, maybe you can try to get some sleep."

"Yeah, Mulder, you look like crap. You know Scully wouldn't want to see you like this. She'd kick your ass," Frohike called out.

"No doubt." Assholes. He scowled, doing his best to look dark and menacing; instead, he found himself stifling a yawn. "Okay, I'll go back to my place. Call me if there's anything new."

"Why don't you just crash here? You shouldn't be driving anyway, we'll just be...oh." Byers's voice was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep sitting up, his head lolling back, his arms crossed tightly over his heart.

* * * * *

Mulder woke with a start. Where was he? He rubbed his eyes and then his neck. Sleeping on the Gunmen's couch. Okay. He got, walked to their bathroom. He took a piss, washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. Glancing at his watch, he saw he had slept for at least a couple of hours in that position. No wonder his neck was sore. He massaged it, trying to loosen up the muscles. His stomach rumbled. It had been a while since breakfast.

He wandered into the kitchen, grabbed some orange juice from the refrigerator. He started to drink it, thought better of it, checked the expiration date. He shrugged, then drained the carton.

Langly walked in. "Help yourself, Mulder. There's cereal, milk, bread for toast, frozen dinners. Whatever you want. Is that your cellphone? It's playing..."

"The Theme from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Frohike needs to take that off my cell. It's undermining my credibility with my peer group." He pulled the phone out of his jacket and pulled up the antenna. "Mulder."

"Fox?" Her voice sounded soft, whispery. Frightened.

"Marie? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Someone's broken in to my apartment. They've, oh Fox, everything is wrecked, it's..."

"Have you called the police?"

"Yes. They are on their way. I've got to air out this room, it stinks of cigarettes."

Mulder felt as though he could spontaneously combust. "Don't," he managed through clenched teeth. "Wait until the police get there. You don't want to risk disturbing the crime scene." As though the professionals that had tossed her place would leave any trace behind. "Is there someone you can call, somewhere you can go tonight?" He didn't want to have to say it but the danger might not stop at vandalism. "Marie?"

"Yeah. I'm here. Um, okay, I'll call my friend Julia to come get me. We'll take a cab to her place after the police are done."

"Do you need me to come back up? I'll get on the next flight if you want me to," he offered, hoping she'd turn him down. God. He was a shit.

"I think I can handle this, though you're sweet to offer."

She sounded calmer now, more in control. Good. He hoped she would be able to hear what he had to say next. "This may sound paranoid but I don't think you should call me, not unless you know you're on a secure line. I'm afraid what happened may somehow be related to Scully's abduction."

She snorted. "Paranoid. You? Never. Wait, you're not serious."

Mulder was silent.

"Fox, don't hang up on me. I need to know why you believe that. Dammit. The police just got here. I've got to go. Please call me tomorrow at work."

Mulder hesitated. "I will. Call me if you need anything." He shouldn't see Marie or even speak to her again. His small circle of friends and acquaintances had just closed in a little tighter. Someone must have followed him from Berlin to New York, then to her apartment, which meant his attempt to keep this low profile was not working. He might as well be wearing a sign that read "Fox Mulder, Special Agent, come hurt me now." He sat back down, leaned on the table and put his face in his hands.

"What's up? You look like someone just died." Langly pulled out the bread and peanut butter from the refrigerator.

Mulder wasn't sure he should tell Langly. "No, nothing like that. A friend just had her apartment broken into. New York, it probably happens a lot, just never to her. She's pretty upset." He rambled on and then sneaked a look at Langley.

"Are you talking about your friend, Marie? The hottie who moved to New York for the big job?" At Mulder's look, he added, "What? You think we don't keep tabs on your social network, such as it is? You want peanut butter and jelly on your sandwich or just peanut butter?"

"It doesn't matter. What kind of jelly?"

"Grape or strawberry," Langly said patiently.

"Grape, thanks. Is there any milk?" You needed milk with PB and J.

"Should be, check the side door."

After pouring himself a glass and offering to do the same for Langly, Mulder sat down to eat. He was lucky to have Langly for a friend. Lucky to have them all, when it came right down to it.

"Where is everyone?" Mulder ventured between bites.

"Frohike and Byers have gone to a friend's place to make another attempt at the DOD mainframe. They dropped Agent Fowley off at her hotel to make her phone calls. Also, she needed to check in with her boss. I guess she left in kind of a hurry. What did you say to her to get her to come back with you?"

"What are you implying—that I've done something improper by asking Diana to help me? She's a colleague and a friend, and I think she can take care of herself without you trying to run interference for her. What's it to you anyway?" Mulder said, trying not to feel defensive.

Langly shrugged. "Nothing. Forget I said anything. I mean, I knew you two were together and then suddenly she was gone and now, poof! She's back."

Mulder stood up. "What are you insinuating? I'm not sleeping with her, not that that's any of your business. She's here to help me find Scully. As you may recall, Diana dumped me, and as things turned out it was probably a good thing that she did. Jesus."

He pressed his hands over his eyes, trying to shut out the light. He was losing it. "I'm sorry, Ringo. I know you're just trying to help. I am an ass."

"Yes, you are, apology accepted," Langly said cheerfully.

"Close Encounters" started playing across the room. "That's mine," Mulder muttered, grabbing the phone from his jacket. He had to get Frohike to change the ringtone back. The guys had said it was a cutting edge application that everyone would have in the near future. Apparently, they could even program the phone with a different ring depending on who was calling.

"Mulder," he snapped before he could stop himself.

"It's me. What's wrong?" As usual, Diana sounded concerned, calm and in control. He wasn't sure why but that combination was starting to irritate him.

"Nothing. I'm fine, just short on sleep, short-tempered, the usual. What's up?"

"I've set up some interviews. I decided it would make sense to start with the area closest to where Agent Scully was taken. Unfortunately, there are only a few names on the list that are from Virginia. Two of the women are members of a MUFON chapter in Richmond, although they both live a considerable distance from there."

"You mean there is no MUFON chapter in eastern Appalachia?" Mulder inquired, half-seriously. Scully would have rolled her eyes and made some snide remark. Diana said nothing.

"Okay, then. Let's go. I'll swing by my place for my overnight bag and we can be on our way."

Fortunately, he had made a run to Target for underwear and socks right before he had flown to Germany. He threw the unopened packages into his bag, added tee shirts, his boots, heavy socks, jeans, a thick sweater. It was late October, they were heading for the mountains. He added his leather jacket to the pile.

He was heading for the bathroom to get his shaving kit when his phone rang.

"I'm nearly ready. What is it, Diana?" he answered, balancing the phone on his shoulder while he looked for his cordless shaver.

"Agent Mulder." The voice was low, cold, slightly accented and familiar.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"You know who I am. You are not helping her by continuing this fruitless quest. You are only putting yourself—and others—in danger. In the larger scheme of things, Agent Scully is unimportant. You need to focus on the big picture. You have important work to do, Agent Mulder."

He knew the break-in at Marie's was no accident. Damn. "Scully is important to me! You must know where she is being held. Why can't you help me?" he demanded.

"I'm not calling to help you. I'm calling to warn you. They know who is with you. They know where you're headed."

Mulder listened to the dial tone for a second, then slammed down the receiver, grabbed his coat and bag and left. They wouldn't be trying so hard to stop him if Scully was dead. She was still alive. She had to be.

 

**Chapter Five**

 

Mulder drove an old diesel Mercedes, a maroon four door with tan leather bench seats, white wall tires and polished chrome rims. He had had it handed down to him by his grandmother, who'd kept it garaged for him while he was at Oxford. When he graduated, he had thought about buying a new car, a cool car. But since he worked for the FBI, it made little sense for him to invest his money in new transportation when he used fleet cars or rentals. Of course, it made no sense for him to spend money on expensive suits either when he just kept wrecking them. But every man needed a few vices and this one at least was harmless only to his bank account.

The automobile was comfortable, in pristine condition, built like a tank, and if properly maintained would run forever, his mechanic assured him. Though he rarely drove it, he did keep it tuned. He had just had the oil changed but he checked it anyway at the filling station, while Diana paid the attendant.

The drive to Skyland Mountain, which under normal circumstances might have been relaxing, was instead making Mulder even more anxious. Revisiting the site where he had nearly witnessed Scully's kidnapping by the military (or her abduction by aliens, depending on which scenario he was leaning toward at the moment) was not something he was looking forward to. Maybe it was the reactivation of his PTSD from Samantha's abduction as the shrinks at the Bureau kept insisting. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep and regular meals over the past couple months. Whatever the cause, there was no doubt that his occasional bouts of insomnia had turned into a bona fide sleep disorder. Not only was it hard to fall asleep, even in front of the television, as had been his habit for the past twenty or so years, it was nearly impossible for him to stay asleep. He would wake up disoriented, his heart pounding, thinking he was twelve years old again and had just seen his sister disappear in a blaze of white light. Sometimes, instead of Sam, he would see Scully's body floating in mid-air, her voice calling, Mulder, Mulder, I need your help.

"What time is the first interview?" Mulder asked, rubbing his chest absently. He knew the chest pain wasn't his heart but if Scully were here, she'd still make him get it checked out. Of course, if Scully were here...

Diana consulted her Filofax. "That would be seven pm. We should be in Luray in half an hour and from there it's just a short distance to Skyland. How were you able to get us into the Big Mountain Lodge at such short notice?"

Mulder shrugged. "I told them we were FBI agents and that we were here to reopen the Duane Barry investigation. They were happy to hear that since they hold the Bureau responsible for the death of the tram operator." Since Alex Krycek murdered him, that's right on the money. "They're giving us a discount, too. Skinner will be happy."

"I thought you had decided to try to keep this off the books for now. Isn't that why we took your car? The entrance to the Park is just up ahead," Diana instructed him.

Shit. Mulder shook himself mentally. Maybe the lapse would go unnoticed.

* * * * *

"Fox, Fox. You need to wake up." Hearing her voice, just for a second, he imagined it was 1990 and he was back in DC, in their bed. Reality quickly asserted itself as he peered through half-closed eyes at Diana.

He was lying on top of his bed in the cabin adjoining Diana's. He scrambled to sit up.

"What time is it? Why didn't you get me up sooner?" he asked irritably, walking toward the bathroom.

"It's nearly six-thirty. We'll have to get going if we don't want to be late. I would have woken you sooner but I thought you needed the sleep," Diana said mildly.

After looking at his blood-shot eyes in the mirror, he made a mental note to pick up some Visine the next time they were near a drugstore. He splashed water on his face, ran his fingers through his hair, grabbed his jacket, and handed Diana the keys.

"Let's go. I'll shave in the car." He thought about not shaving, but figured he'd need to maintain a semblance of professionalism if he was going to get through this.

Diana handled a stick shift, driving on the unfamiliar mountain roads as competently as she did everything else. "I'd like you to take the lead during the interviews. I don't trust myself to stay—focused," he confided reluctantly, turning off the electric shaver, and rubbing his chin.

"We'll use the same set of questions from the last study I completed before I joined the Bureau. They're designed to separate out the true abductees from the wannabees," Diana reassured him.

Mulder wasn't sure if that was even possible but he decided to let it go. "Okay. But we need to focus on their memories of the abduction itself, not just on what happened and when. We need to try to figure out where these women have been taken." He stared out the window at the patterns of shadowed foliage. "I got a photo of Scully from her mother to show them. It's fairly recent." He pulled it out of his wallet, held it up, smoothing out the edges. It was too dark to look at it, but he could see her in his mind's eye. Her hair was a little bit shorter, like it had been when they first met, and wavier. She was wearing that hideous blazer, the one she'd worn to Iowa, on what was it? Their fourth case. The one where she'd essentially accused him of investigating the case as an excuse to look for Samantha. "It won't bring her back," she had pleaded. Maybe Scully was right. Maybe he was over-identifying with the victims and their families. But the missing girl did get returned to her family alive.

Diana glanced at him quickly then back at the road. "I've arranged just the one interview for tonight but we have a full schedule tomorrow and the next day." She fell silent.

"That's good. We may need to talk to a lot of people before we find anyone who has seen Scully." They might never find anyone who could recall enough of the experience to help find Scully.

Diana pulled the car up in front of a small brick house. The porch light was shining, and lamplight was visible through curtains in one of the front rooms.

He brushed his fingers over Scully's image, cradled in the palm of his hand, wishing he had the gift that could allow him to divine her fate from a mere touch. He shivered a bit. If he could, would he like what he'd see?

* * * * *

Sarah McKinney, neé Harbison, was Caucasian, fifty-two years of age, the wife of a small business owner, the daughter of a coal miner, who was originally from the southwestern portion of Virginia. According to the folder Mulder was looking through while Diana talked with Mrs. McKinney, she was also a multiple abductee. Her first disappearance was in 1959, but she was returned in less than a day. She was taken again in 1962, 1964, 1966, over and over again, for a total of eight. The first seven times she was missing for as little as a few hours to as long as three days. The final time she was taken, in June 1973, she was gone for nearly three months. She claimed to be pregnant at the time she was abducted, but was not when she was returned. Mulder knew there were other cases in the literature of women claiming to have had fetuses taken from them.

"How is that apple pie, Agent Mulder?"

"Really good, Mrs. McKinney." It was, too. Not too juicy, not too sweet, great crust.

"You haven't been abducted or experienced any episodes of missing time since 1973, Mrs. McKinney?" Diana asked gently.

"No, ma'am, I haven't." the woman replied in a soft, slightly accented voice. She was about five feet, five inches tall, maybe 130 pounds, dressed neatly in tan slacks and a blue flowered button down shirt, and inexpensive white athletic shoes. Her hair was brown with streaks of gray. She smoothed her hands over her blue checked cotton apron. "Would you like another piece? More iced tea? More coffee for you, Agent Fowley?"

Mulder was about to say yes, please, to both offers.

"I'm fine. Thank you, Mrs. McKinney for taking the time to speak with us." Diana stood up, indicating the interview was over.

The woman look confused. "Don't you want to ask me about my children?" she said, looking first at Diana, then over at Mulder.

Mulder set down his fork and glanced at the folder. "It says here you have seven grown children, two sons and five daughters. Is there something else we should know?"

"All of my daughters have also been taken, the last time was in August. She was just returned, only a week ago. I assumed that was why..."

Diana appeared to be as stunned as he was, but she recovered quickly.

"Mrs. McKinney, yes, we would like to hear about your children. You are saying that all of your children are abductees?"

"No, I said my daughters. Yes. They've all of them have been taken many times, though not so often as I was, thank the Lord."

Mulder couldn't stay silent. "What is the name of the daughter who was just returned, Mrs. McKinney? How soon can we speak with her? Is she, is she all right?"

"She is and she isn't, Agent Mulder. Jennifer is her first name, we call her Jenny."

 

**Chapter Six**

 

Luray, Virginia

Jennifer Caldwell was six weeks pregnant at the time of her abduction. Now she was not, according to the discharge summary Mulder held in his hand from the hospital she was released from just a few days ago.

"Thank you for allowing us access to your medical records, Mrs. Caldwell. They may prove helpful. Mr. Caldwell, you did not file a missing-person report at the time of your wife's abduction?" Mulder wondered about that. The lack of a paper trail in this case was depressing him. Jeff Caldwell was sitting next to his wife. One fair-haired daughter who looked to be about four, sat on his lap, sucking her thumb, the other, maybe eight, was playing with a large doll who looked eerily like its owner: long, dark brown hair, pulled into a ponytail at the back, blue eyes, fair complexion. She also bore some resemblance to another eight-year-old girl, although this family couldn't be more different from the Mulders.

"What good would that have done, Agent Mulder? It hadn't got you very far now, has it? Besides, we knew who'd taken her!"

"Who did take her, sir?" What did this unfortunate family think was happening to them?

Jeff gave Mulder a hard look, then called to the young woman sitting across the room. Maybe his sister? A cousin? "Laura. Please take the girls to their rooms until we are finished here." He waited until they left, then turned again to the agents.

"I don't want to scare my children. Everyone in the family knows that she was being taken by aliens, just like her mother and her sisters," he said firmly.

If everyone in the family knows, then you must suspect your children do, too, Mr. Caldwell. "What happened to the car she was driving? Was it reported stolen?" Mulder said instead.

Jeff shook his head. "A day or two later, it was found abandoned on the side of the road a few miles from our house, just like always. There was no need to report anything."

Mulder turned to Jenny. "Mrs. Caldwell. If I may, I'd like to ask you some questions about the night you were abducted?"

She took a deep breath. "Please. Call me Jenny. I'm ready."

"You were in your car, driving home from visiting your parents. Just tell me in your own words, as best you can recall, what happened to you that night?"

"I don't remember much. I remember being in the car. Then the motor died, the lights went out. The last thing I remember clearly was trying the starter and getting nothing, not even a click."

Mulder pulled Scully's picture out of his wallet, and handed it to Diana, who passed it over to the pale young woman. Compared to the family portrait sitting on the fireplace mantle, Jennifer looked as though she hadn't seen the sun for months. She appeared exhausted and sad, unlike the vibrant young woman in the picture. Damn. He forced his attention back to the interview.

"Do you recognize this woman?"

Jenny shook her head. "No. I'm sorry. Should I?" she said, looking back at Mulder.

Diana interjected,"Not necessarily. That is a photo of Agent Mulder's partner, Dana Scully. She was taken from her home and brought to Skyland Mountain by her kidnapper in August. She has not been seen since."

"I'd hoped you might recognize her." Mulder wanted to leave in the worst way. Only a glance from Diana kept him seated.

"Are you familiar with regression hypnosis, Jenny?" Diana asked.

She frowned. "I've heard of it but I wouldn't say I'm familiar, no."

"It's a technique used to help people like you recover repressed memories. I received training from one of the leading experts in the field before I joined the FBI and I feel confident that I can help you remember, if you are willing to let me."

Jeff frowned. "You don't have to do this, Jen. You've been through enough." He shook his head, looking disgusted. "You people have no right to be asking her to do this. None."

Mulder leaned forward. "Jenny. Your husband is right. You don't have to do this. But maybe you can help another person who has been hurt. Maybe you can help us find out who did this to both of you."

Jennifer's eyes filled as she put her hand on her husband's arm to quiet him. "It's all right, Jeff. Agent Mulder, I want to help you find her. Agent Fowley, what do you need me to do?"

It was a long shot, but Jennifer Caldwell's memories were the investigation's best lead and her fate was Mulder's best hope for Scully's survival. If Jennifer could be returned after three months in relatively good health, maybe Scully would be, too.

 

2 a.m.

Mulder slouched on top of the bedspread, aggressively channel-surfing. Predictably, he couldn't sleep. Anyway, he was not in the mood for another Scully as Samantha bedtime horror movie. Since he didn't want to wake Diana, who was sound asleep in the room next door, he resentfully had the sound turned low. At least the place had a satellite dish, with a pretty good pay-per-view selection. Unfortunately, he'd already seen all of the x-rated movies, good and bad. "Up and Commers 11" might be worth another viewing. He decided to check out the R-rated movies.

"Embrace of the Vampire" was already half-over, but the plot was both beside the point and depressingly predictable. He glanced at the channel guide's summary: "Charlotte Wells, a college freshman who is unknowingly the reincarnation of a Transylvanian Princess, has fallen under the spell of a handsome, kinky vampirish demon-lover and soul-mate, who must have her join him in three days—or die." A fuck or die scenario. He flipped back to the movie. He couldn't hear the dialogue, but it didn't matter. The sexy princess was being photographed with her top off by an equally sexy camera woman. Who was now starting to kiss the princess's breasts. Mulder groaned, took out his stiffening cock, and began working it. Wait. Damn, was that Alyssa Milano? But it was the prim-looking auburn-haired photographer in her tailored black suit who was grabbing his attention. He wanted to peel off that jacket, pull her skirt up and and bend her over his desk.

"Admit it. You want this. Say it, Scully. Say it, and I'll give you what you need."

Fuck. When did his lizard brain start turning every nominally attractive redhead in business attire into his partner? Not that it was ever right, but now, with her missing... He turned off the set, and flopped back on the mattress.

He remembered how it first started: touching her face, after her father had died. Her cheek was so soft, pale, and cool, but her skin warmed beneath his fingertips. Suspecting that she had a crush on him, he liked to push at her limits, standing just a little too close, keeping his hand on the small of her back just a little too long. Hell, he admitted it. He did it to intimidate her (she's a spy!) and, well, because he wanted to wipe that smug look off of her face and replace it with—what? She didn't intimidate easily. She pushed back.

While Mulder was at home, recuperating after being shot by Lucas Henry, Scully had balked at being sent back to Quantico. He understood why: the X-Files division was her first field assignment, plus she didn't want to go back to teaching, even temporarily. He was surprised Blevins didn't force the issue. Instead, he'd agreed to let her do desk duty, with two provisos: that she perform autopsies on an as needed basis, no questions asked, and that if a case came up, a more experienced agent would be assigned to the X-Files. She did get called in to do autopsies pretty regularly, but no cases of any urgency had arisen. He was glad for that. He was worried about her. He knew was she was probably holding herself in some way responsible for his being shot, which was absurd. She was still in mourning, too.

When Scully decided to change his filing system from his somewhat idiosyncratic approach to one she deemed more logical, Mulder had agreed, but he insisted on being consulted before any substantial reorganization was done. To keep him in the loop, she began bringing files with her, stopping by his apartment before heading home for the day. He had to admit her suggestions made sense, plus it gave him a chance to talk to her about the work. To be with her.

He began to look forward to her visits, even to depend on them. Mulder had quickly tired of his daily diet of television game shows and video porn, spiced up with an occasional visit from the Gunmen, or worse yet, his mother. The high points of his week had been his three physical therapy visits. Scully was fun to be with, when she wasn't trying to shoot down his theories. The problem was getting her to stay. On several occasions, he tried complaining about his leg hurting but this ploy was always met with a professional face, a cursory exam and advice to call his doctor in the morning if the problem persisted. He tried offering food: pizza, Thai, Chinese, whatever she wanted. Finally, an invitation to stay for dinner was accepted. Mulder was ecstatic. Pizza was ordered and delivered. He made the ultimate sacrifice and allowed her to put mushrooms on her side, even though he knew the entire pizza would be contaminated with fungal cooties. Maybe after they ate, he could suggest they watch a movie together. He didn't have any chick-flicks but Scully wasn't that kind of girl. She'd probably dig _Caddyshack_.

She left soon after dinner, pleading fatigue. Shot down again. Mulder concluded she just wasn't that into him, which was probably just as well. He wasn't going to make any moves on her; after all, they had to work together, and anyway, she was his friend, which was rarer and more precious than sex.

He knew her, at least he thought he did. After he found out she'd been assigned to him, he'd read her personnel file, as well as the background check. Then he did a little checking on his own. Dana Katherine Scully had a history of being attracted to men who were in a position of authority. Jack Willis, an instructor at the academy. Dr. Daniel Waterston, another instructor, this one from medical school. As a profiler, he understood why: she was the adoring youngest daughter of a naval officer, who'd spent much of her childhood at sea. Someday, when he could work up the nerve, maybe they could talk about their respective pasts.

The final week he was on leave, he'd been asked to go to Boston to consult on a profile. Serial rapist, four victims, all raped in their homes at night. The guy liked to use pantyhose to restrain his victims. The four women had all had been tied up, raped, then left alone. The first three had survived. The fourth victim had also been gagged; beaten badly, she'd apparently died choking to death on her own vomit. Was this accidental? Was it even the same guy?

His doctor had cleared him for desk duty, but not for driving, so Scully had accompanied him. This made him feel irrationally happy, considering the reason for the trip. She was going to go over the autopsy results, while he worked on a profile. He had finished looking at the photos of the most recent crime scene, and was reading the interviews with the survivors, when she knocked on his motel room door.

"Hey, Scully. It's open."

She walked over to the bed where he was sprawled and sat down.

"How is the profile going, Mulder? Do you think you're on track?" she said softly.

"Yeah. Good catch on that last autopsy report, by the way." He absently rubbed his forehead. "Did you bring any aspirin? I've got a..."

Before he could finish, he felt her thumbs pressing against the base of his neck where he stored so much tension. He rolled onto his stomach so she could massage his scalp. He was surprised by her tenderness, suppressing a groan of pleasure as she gently rubbed his ears, rolling the cartilage slowly, softly between her fingertips. When he turned over to look at her, she ran a finger over his bottom lip, then kissed it, and then just kept kissing him.

He thought about all of the times he had looked into her eyes and thought he could let this happen or make this happen, all the times he had said no. He was tired. He wanted her to keep running her hands through his hair. He wanted to get off and her mouth felt incredible. It felt real.

He watched as she kicked off her shoes, pulled off his tie, and started on the buttons on his dress shirt. Why was she doing this? Feeling like it was time he made some effort, he reached into her skirt to pull out her blouse, undid her bra, pushing the fabric aside so he could cup her right breast, while he put his tongue at the place where her neck met her ear. She gave a little gasp, then pushed him back on the bed, pushed aside his shirt. He let her caress his chest, his neck his back his ears. Oh God. Maybe he was using her. Maybe she was using him but he wanted it and he wasn't going to stop. Not this time.

He started unbuckling his belt. Feeling awkward, he stood up to take off his pants, but he got so distracted watching her remove her underpants, he forgot he'd left his shoes on.

She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that he hadn't heard since their first case together. "Mulder, sit down."

By that point, he was beyond caring about the possible consequences. He watched her nipples harden as she pulled off his shoes, pants and shorts. He reached for her but she pushed him back onto the mattress, climbed on top and began rubbing his cock against her clit. She was so slick and hot, it was making him crazy.

"Jesus. Scully." He didn't think it was possible for his cock to get any harder.

She smiled. "You like this." She licked her thumb then gently rubbed his frenulum, until he moaned.

"Fuck, yes." But she had to stop or he'd be done before they even got started. He grabbed her wrists and rolled her. Another laugh, but breathier this time. "You like this." She nodded.

Every place he touched, he felt her skin come on fire. Then he was pushing inside her and she kept saying Mulder, oh please. He was getting too close, too fast. When he felt her muscles clench around his dick, he came too, shuddering with the release. He carefully rolled off so that his weight wouldn't hurt her. God, she was so small, so sweet and warm. He was afraid to look at her face, but he spooned her up against him, and whispered her name. _Scully, oh Scully_.

The fantasy re-run always stopped at that point.

Though she'd been in his bed when he'd fallen asleep, when he woke in the middle of night, she was gone. She came to him again in the morning, bearing coffee from Dunkin' Donuts, chocolate donuts with sprinkles, and the Boston Globe. It was the donuts that gave her away. She sat down on the bed where they had been lying together just hours before. He knew even before she handed him his coffee what she was going to say, but that didn't mean he wanted to make it easy.

Her hair was pulled back in a loose pony-tail underneath her woolen muffler, but a few stray locks had come undone as she'd removed her outerwear. As he reached out to smooth them back in place, she swallowed hard.

Her tone was formal and measured. "Mulder. I want to apologize for last night. In the heat of the moment, I'm afraid I made a terrible mistake. Our partnership means a great deal to me. I hope my actions haven't in any way jeopardized the viability of our working relationship, but if they have, I'll request a transfer off the X-Files."

That was the last thing he wanted. "No, that won't be necessary. We're both adults. There was no coercion on your part. I was a willing, I daresay even an enthusiastic participant." He got a tiny smile from that. "But you want things to go back to the way they were before."

She said cautiously, "I think that would be for the best; I hope after careful consideration, you can forgive me so we can move on."

Yes. Damn it. He could. So they had patched it up and agreed to keep things professional. And they had for the most part, at least she had. He tried, but he kept on touching her. Looking at her. Wanting her. He didn't want to lose her completely but he couldn't help it. On the road, he'd lie awake late at night, listening to her in the next room, then jack off once he was sure she was asleep, thinking about her. Thinking about fucking her. Although she never said anything or tried to stop him, sometimes out of the corner of his eye, he could see her confusion, followed by the resolve to stay strong, and the pain. He liked it, knowing that it was hard for her, too. God, he was a jerk.

Fine. She was right. It was a mistake. Their one sexual encounter had been conducted virtually without discussion, of their sexual histories, or anything else. It was like a game of Truth or Dare, without questions, on fast forward. Would it have made any difference if he'd tried to slow things down? It had never occurred to him, but maybe she was lonely, too.

* * * * *

Diana elected to do the hypnosis sessions in the Caldwell's den. She looked over to where Mulder stood at the far side of the small room, opposite where Diana was seated near the recliner chair where Jennifer was lying. Unlike many abductees who only gave brief accounts of missing time, Jennifer's disappearance was so lengthy that Diana had deemed it expedient to schedule a short session tonight, then two longer ones: one tomorrow and the other the following day, for her comfort and to give her time to begin to process what had happened. After that, if she desired further sessions, Diana would give her a referral to Dr. Werber or another psychologist.

The interview technique was standard: first, bring the client under, bring them back in time to the event you want them to recall; next, ask them a series of questions designed to elicit information without leading them in a particular direction. Jennifer could remember back to the moment when her car lost power. Unlike Agent Scully, she wasn't taken aboard any sort of aircraft, military, civilian or alien.

"After a little while, I'm not sure how long, I try the ignition again. This time it starts. I don't want to leave but there's a voice in my head. It tells me I have to go."

Diana waited a minute, then asked the next question. "Where did you drive to? Do you recognize the location?"

Jenny's voice sounded far-away. "No, I've been there before but I don't know where I am. I stop the car. They're waiting for me, just like always."

"Where do they take you?" said Diana.

"There are steps, then a long dark hallway. They take me to one of the sleeping rooms and lock me in. There's already someone in the bottom bunk, so I climb into the top."

"Do you recognize her?"

Jenny shook her head.

"Tell me about the sleeping room, Jenny," Diana encouraged.

"It's small. There's just a couple of feet between the bunk-beds and and the front wall. The bed's pushed up against the back. There's a small closet with a toilet and a pull-down sink, and a shower. We can't drink the water."

"Why not?" Diana pressed her gently.

"I don't know but the sign in the closet said not to drink. They give us bottles of water instead."

Diana wondered what Mulder would make of that detail.

"They're taking me into a room with bright white lights. I'm lying on a hard table, like in a doctor's exam room." She gripped the armrests of the recliner.

"You say your captors are men. Can you tell us anything else about them, describe them in anyway?" Diana encouraged.

"I can't tell much. They always wear masks over their faces, caps to cover their hair. Gloves on their hands. I've been here before. I know they're going to hurt me." She began crying softly. Diana nodded at Jeff, who was seated nearby. He scooted his chair closer and took his wife's hand.

"Jenny. I know how hard this is. Are you ready to go on, or should we stop now?" Diana glanced at Mulder, shaking her head slightly. He nodded his encouragement. He still trusted her. She returned her attention to Jenny.

"They take off my clothes. They put straps on my wrists and my ankles. I'm so scared. They put something cold and wet on my stomach and smear it all over. Then one of them cuts into my belly-button and pushes a long piece of metal inside me. God, it hurts. I plead with them but they won't stop." She starting shaking. "They took my baby. They took my baby."

"Jenny. I want you to focus on my voice. You need to come back, now. Jenny, come back. Open your eyes now."

"You can't keep making her do this! I need you two to leave now." Jeff took his wife's hand and began pulling her up.

"Mr. Caldwell. You need to let Jenny decide for herself. Don't you want to know what happened to your wife and unborn child?" Mulder said urgently. Diana saw he'd clenched his hands into fists.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Caldwell put his arms around his wife.

"Wait. Jeff." Jenny looked over at Mulder, who continued to hold her gaze. Then she turned back to Diana. "I'll try again for you tomorrow, Agent Fowley. I need to know what they did to me." She let her husband lead her out.

"I'm going to the car. I'll wait for you there," Mulder said abruptly.

"I think that's a good idea." Diana packed up her briefcase, placed the small tape recorder into her purse and retrieved her cell phone. She dialed, waited, let it ring several times, and hung up. Mulder was already in the car, on the passenger side. She opened the trunk and put her briefcase in next to her suitcase and Mulder's overnight bag, the one she had bought for his birthday in a moment of weakness. She tried to think of a gift he had given her that she still owned.

His face was streaked with tears, which he quickly wiped away. He was leaning back against the seat. Even with it pushed all the way back, his legs were probably cramped. His arms were folded protectively in front of his chest, his leather jacket closed against the autumn chill. She sat down on the driver's side. The leather seat felt cold, even clammy. Hesitantly, she reached over to touch his fingers.

"Don't!" he snapped, pulling his hand away.

She tried again. "You know you don't have to be present for these interviews since I'm taping them. In any case, I'm not convinced there's anything we're going to hear that will be of any use in locating your partner. Destroying yourself isn't going to bring her back."

"You think I don't know that, Diana. Jesus. Even if this leads nowhere, I need to know. I need to know what they did to her."

Diana sat for a moment, then reached for the ignition.

He said quietly,"It could have been you, you know. If you'd stayed and been assigned to the X-Files instead of Scully."

 _No. It never could have been me._ She turned on the headlights and edged the car forward into the darkness.

 

**Chapter Seven**

 

The second interview with Jenny Caldwell had yielded no information useful to their investigation, nor did the subsequent interviews with Annie, Julie and Barbara. While their descriptions were consistent, they were too vague to be useful. All of the women recalled being kept in small rooms that led into dark, narrow corridors. Bright lights, invasive exams, injections with some unknown agent, more exams. Painful procedures done without anesthesia of any kind. Their captors were ordinary men, human monsters garbed in surgical gowns and masks that served to hide their identities. The women cared for each other in between the testing, with those who were mostly recuperated helping those who were still suffering.

None of the sisters recognized Scully. Mulder didn't know whether to feel better or worse, considering the graphic scenes of medical rape and torture the women had recounted. The interview with Barbara was the last, as the eldest daughter, Susan Dunlap, had died of ovarian cancer the previous year at the age of 33, leaving behind her husband and three children, all daughters. He shuddered. He supposed he should be trying to interview Widower Dunlap, but frankly, he didn't have the heart. Susan's illness seemed unrelated to her abduction experiences, but really, how could they be certain?

Diana was quiet as they drove back to the lodge after their last interview.

"I guess we've exhausted the Mufon motherlode," Mulder ventured. Diana didn't respond. "Come on, there is something here, you have to admit. Six women, all from the same family, all claiming to be multiple abductees."

She glanced over at him, then quickly back to the road, as she steered them around another curve. "I'm just not sure I see a connection between these women and Agent Scully."

"I'm puzzled by their stories," Mulder admitted. "I'm certainly not getting a clear picture of where they could have been held. The detail that I keep coming back to is the sensation of being in motion that they all described. That, and the noise, as though the rooms were near some kind of heavy machinery. But the fact remains that this is Skyland Mountain. This is where Duane Barry was abducted. Scully was taken from here, the women were all taken from this place. There has to be a connection. We just have to figure out what it is."

"I don't see how this information is bringing us any closer to finding her. Is it? Or to finding your sister, for that matter," Diana added softly.

"No," Mulder said finally. "But it is evidence of a larger conspiracy."

"To do what and for what purpose?"

Jesus. Diana was starting to sound as skeptical as Scully. "I, I don't know yet." He slumped down in his seat.

"Maybe it's time to consider that she may not ever be found. That Dana may be dead," she said reluctantly.

"I have considered that possibility. But damn it, Diana, I owe it to her and to her family to keep searching. She wouldn't give up on me so easily, I know that. Anyway, I suggest we take a break, maybe head back to that diner that we passed a couple of miles back."

"Okay, but I want to stop back at my room and change out of these clothes. We're nearly there," Diana said.

"Fine." He wanted to touch base with the Gunmen and he knew they wouldn't want a call from his cell phone.

"What is that sound?" Diana asked as the Mercedes rounded the last turn toward the lodge.

"Sirens," Mulder said grimly. "And I think I smell smoke, too." Fuck. "You have all the tapes, right? And your computer, all of your belongings are in the trunk?"

"Yes. I packed everything up, just as you'd suggested. How did you know?" Diana said cautiously.

"I've had this happen to me before when I was close to the truth." Bellefleur, Oregon. Their first case together. Nope, no time for that.

The exterior cabin and surrounding structures were nearly untouched; thanks to a quick response from the local volunteer fire brigade. Water from the resort's pool had been hand-carried to the blaze until the pumper truck arrived to finish the job. The interior was another matter. Their rooms had been ransacked, then torched.

"They didn't find anything important." Diana started coughing from the smoky air.

"No," Mulder said. "Not this time."

She walked back toward the car, holding the cotton handkerchief Mulder handed her over her nose and mouth. "What do you think we should do?"

Mulder glanced around. Whoever had set the blaze could still be in the vicinity. Since all of the property damage was the Lodge's, he was inclined to let the local authorities handle it. "I think we should go get something to eat. How about if I drive? You can change in the backseat, can't you?" Mulder held out his hand for the keys.

Diana shook her head. "No, that's alright. Let's just get going." She studied his face for a moment, then handed the keys to him.

A couple of miles down the road, Mulder glanced in the rear-view mirror. Good. So far no one seemed to be following them. Maybe this would work.

"Fox, where are we going? You just flew past the diner."

Mulder shook his head to indicate that he didn't want to talk. "I think we should head back to Washington. Clearly, they are onto us."

But instead, a few miles down the mountain, he pulled into the driveway of a small motor inn they had passed on the way to the summit. Without a word, he got out and checked them in, paying in cash. He didn't want to risk setting off more alarms by using a credit card, and stupidly he hadn't brought that much cash, so two rooms were out of the question. After driving the car around to the back of the inn, out of sight of the highway, he parked, helped her out and ushered her to the room. It was a double which he hoped would send the right message. Though they'd shared a bed that first night back in Berlin, that was as far as it had gone, and he thought that was for the best. Sex was an unwanted distraction. He wasn't in love with her anymore, if he indeed he ever was. Besides, perversely, he felt like having sex with her was a form of cheating on Scully, which made no sense at all.

Diana was exiting the bathroom when he walked into the room, carrying their bags. She held out her hand for her case. "Why are we here? I thought we were heading back to Washington."

"That's what I want Them to think, too," Mulder replied. "I didn't want to say anything because I can't be sure until the Gunmen check that they haven't bugged the sedan." Diana looked surprised, though he didn't know why. They had to have gotten wind of what he was doing somehow.

"Let's just hang here for a bit, give our pursuers a chance to head down the mountain, and then we can go back up to the diner." Mulder set his bag down in between the beds, sat down on the one closest to the door, kicked off his shoes, and laid down, putting his arms up behind his head for a pillow. Diana nodded and sat across from him, on the other bed. Good girl.

"I think this was a warning. We must be closer than we think. One question we need to be asking ourselves is why here? Why not Georgia or North Carolina or Utah?"

"Why are you ruling out other pick-up points?" Diana objected.

"I'm not. I just think there must be a reason why so many people keep getting taken from here. It's in a rural area, but still close enough in to Washington to be an easy drive. The population is relatively homogenous, which might make for a better test population for whatever purpose they are being used for. If there is a ship, it would have to able to enter the atmosphere in order to take and release people. How would it do that in a populated area without attracting major media attention?"

Diana just shrugged.

"The truth is we still know very little. What is the closest military base to here? That blackbox project the gunmen found, 'White Rabbit.' That has to tie in somehow."

"Not necessarily," Diana objected again.

Mulder ignored her, picked up the motel phone and dialed 8 for an outside line. He punched in the code the gunmen had given him that would allow him to reach them from any phone in the USA, toll-free. He preferred not to think about the federal laws he was breaking by using it.

"Frohike? Turn off the tape." Without waiting for confirmation, he continued, "What's the military base closest to Skyland Mountain? Wiekamp Airforce base. Perfect. And would there happen to be any train installations nearby? Thanks, man."

Diana looked puzzled. "You think that there may be some kind of ground transportation involved, too?"

"I just keep thinking about the noises and vibrations the women all described, the feeling of stopping and starting, even braking. They could be caused by some kind of an aircraft but that isn't the only possibility." Mulder pulled his shirt off and rummaged around in his bag for his long-sleeved black tee shirt, pulled it on, grabbed his boots and shoved them on, too. He stood up and ran his hand through his hair. He felt energized and alert. "Let's head up there and take a look around. There are tracks running nearby. Maybe we'll find what we're looking for there." I hope so, he thought uneasily. If we don't, I'm fast running out of options.

Mulder looked over at Diana, who was still sitting on the bed, motionless, her hands in her lap, her face turned away.

"Why aren't you getting..." He stopped. "I'll wait outside while you change if you want," he offered awkwardly. "I'm sorry about the room situation. I should have brought more cash." She didn't reply and she still wasn't looking at him. "Diana, what is it?" He sat on the bed next to her, tried to take her hand.

"Don't. That's not going to work, you know. I'm not completely immune to your charms, but I'm not that easy."

"Okay," he said, taking his hand away. "Can you just tell me what's wrong?"

Diana looked exasperated. "I didn't pack for skulking around Air Force bases, to say nothing of breaking and entering. I don't have any flat shoes to wear, let alone shoes for traipsing through the woods, or whatever terrain this place is on. I'm not sure this is a good idea, in any case. The time you tried this at Ellens Air Force base, it didn't turn out that well."

Now that was interesting. Mulder hadn't shared with Diana any details about his unauthorized entry onto the base in Idaho, or its aftermath. She had been out of his life for more than a year at that point. He knew Scully hadn't put that into her official case report, because if she had, he'd have an equally official reprimand in his file. Surely the military hadn't left any records of what had been done to him, not ones that Diana could have gotten access to. Or had they? Shit.

"What do you mean by that?" Mulder asked carefully.

Diana didn't look surprised at the question. "I think you know exactly what I'm referring to, Fox. Surely you don't think that little escapade is a state secret. I'm not going with you, not without Skinner's authorization, and certainly not tonight. Besides, even if Dana is there, even if she is still alive, you know they aren't going to let you anywhere near her," she said more gently.

I can't accept that. I won't. Mulder was exhausted. This was too much to try to sort through. "So, what are you suggesting we do?"

"I say we go back to that diner. We do need to eat. You can call Skinner in the morning. There's a pay phone down near the office, if you don't want to use your cell phone."

"What if he does authorize a trip to the base? That still leaves you without the proper footwear and accessories. What shall we do about your fashion emergency?" said Mulder.

Diana did not rise to the bait. "In that case, I'm sure that we'll be able to find a store that sells hiking boots and jeans. We're in the Blue Ridge Mountains, not the Gobi Desert." She stood up. Mulder helped her on with her coat. "Thank you. Are you driving, or shall I?"

She was more alert than he'd been for weeks. Fine. Let her drive.

* * * * *

Dinner was awkward, as there was little other than the Yankees' box scores that Mulder was willing to discuss in a public place and Diana never had been a baseball fan. The drive was nearly silent, too. Mulder had plenty of questions. The problem was how how to get the answers. You're the profiler with the big reputation, Spooky. You know this woman, you've been in her bed, you've been in her head. Figure out where she is vulnerable, and use it. She's not going anywhere, not tonight, not unless she decides to rent another room on her own or ditch you, like you've ditched Scully so many times. He marked that thought for a future guilt session, and moved on.

Diana admitted she still had feelings for him. Could he maneuver her into telling him what he wanted to know? He hadn't even hesitated to use her attachment to him to get her to come back with him to Washington, rationalizing that he was doing it for Scully. But he sensed Diana was losing interest in the investigation, pulling away from him when when he needed her firmly on his side. Damn. He hated this Mata Hari shit. Sex shouldn't be about manipulating people to get information out of them or to get them to do what you wanted; at the very least, it should be about mutual pleasure, mutual desire.

Did she still want to have sex with him? Though he'd pleaded fatigue to avoid overtly rejecting her, she certainly had in Germany, his memory bringing up the feeling of his hands on her waist and his mouth on her... although she had done a damn fine job of keeping those feelings under wraps since they'd gotten back to the States. Or maybe she was just following his lead, picking up on his non-verbal cues? If he changed the message, would it make a difference?

It wouldn't be difficult to do. Did he still want her? Hell, yes. Even with all of the questions brewing in the back of his brain, his tricky dick was making its own plans. Maybe he just needed to give himself permission to do what he already wanted to do, and let nature take its course. He wouldn't actively try to seduce Diana, he'd just stop trying so hard not to fall into bed with her. The illogic of this was making his head hurt, but it was also making him hard.

He pulled the sedan smoothly into the parking space and cut the engine. As he opened Diana's door, he let himself think about having sex with her, let that generate heat in him, to see if it would set off any sparks in her.

As he walked her back to their room, he touched her in the small of her back. He did not let himself think of the other woman he'd touched in that way, how often he'd done it, or what meant when he did. Opening the door, his arm brushed lightly against her breast. He acknowledged Diana's soft gasp at his touch. "Sorry."

He tossed his jacket onto the other bed, pulled off his shirt and laid down on top of the bed closest to the door, his hands cradling his head. "Shall we flip for the shower? Heads you go first, but I get to share, tails I go first, and you share with me," he said easily.

He was putting her off balance, he was certain of that, but were the feelings reciprocated? When Diana colored slightly at the suggestion of sharing the shower, he decided the answer was yes. He stared at her body, picturing the first time she'd let him see her breasts, watching as she unbuttoned her blouse, then reached behind and undid the clasp to her bra, her fullness spilling out into his waiting hands. He was aroused and made no effort to hide his erection from Diana.

She began softly, "I don't think..."

He swiftly moved from the bed to where she was standing near the wall by the bathroom door. "What? What don't you think?" he said, playing with a lock of her hair and backing her gradually up against the wall, until she was looking up at him, her soft blue eyes dark with want. He refused to think about Scully's eyes, about how they'd looked when he been underneath her, watching her slide down his cock.

He knew just what kind of touch Diana craved, and where. Unlike Phoebe who was a constant source of demands, sexual and otherwise, Diana had never asked him for anything out of the ordinary, in bed or out; in fact, she had always allowed him to take the lead, rarely initiating sex herself. For a woman as self-confident as Diana to be so passive in bed had always seemed a bit "off" to him, but he had assumed there was something in her sexual or personal history that she'd reveal to him if he was patient to explain it. Whatever it was, she'd never let him in on the secret. After awhile, he'd stopped wondering why.

That might have been the source of some of their problems. While Mulder liked sex as much as the next guy, he had learned to repress the need when he was working. Make jokes about it, sure, but if he was absorbed in his work, the way he had been right after he had found the X-Files, days would go by, even weeks, without sex, and he didn't notice or much miss it. It hadn't occurred to him that she might miss it, or miss him, until much later, and by then she'd gone. After Diana, it seemed simpler to just pop in a video and jack off. It was quick and it was uncomplicated. Unless Marie was between boyfriends, of course, but that, too, was--uncomplicated.

She started to unfasten her shirt. "Don't. Let me undress you." Diana had the most voluptuous body of any woman he had ever been with: full, lush breasts, a tiny waist, generous hips, and a rounded bottom. There was a softness to her that was lacking in Phoebe, who had looked much better in her clothes than out of them. He caressed her neck and shoulders, leaving a path of small kisses.

As he leaned down to trace his tongue around each nipple, Diana's breathing got faster. "That feels good," she murmured.

He ran his fingers lightly over her shoulders and down her arms, then back to hold her face, tracing her lips with his thumb. This is almost too easy, he thought just before he bent down to kiss her. When she opened her mouth to him, he nearly stopped thinking about anything other than how fast he could get her onto that bed and get her clothing off.

When they broke apart, he slowly unzipped her skirt, cupping her ass as he did. Pantyhose. Christ. "Turn around, take those things off, and lie back on the bed." He hurried to pull off his tee shirt so he could watch her bend over as she pulled the offending garment down her legs, then stepped out of her underpants. He undid his belt, unzipped his trousers, pulled out his cock and began working it roughly, then fumbled with the condom packaging. Clearly, he was out of practice.

"Why don't you let me do that?"

He settled himself between her thighs and let her stroke him until he was gasping. "Jesus, Diana." She rolled the condom over his erection using her mouth. "I don't remember that move."

She rolled her eyes. "Are we going to fuck or just talk about it?"

He didn't remember her being so assertive either. He moved her legs apart, pushed inside, and began stroking her firmly. "Does that answer the question to your satisfaction?"

"Yeah. God, yes. Harder."

He pulled her legs up over his shoulders to get a different angle, then pushed back in. "How's that?" he managed.

Apparently it was fine, because he could tell her orgasm wasn't far off. She felt hot and tight and slick around his cock. God, she felt good.

He missed this. He missed mixing work and pleasure. Coming home after the end of a case, talking shop with Diana, making love with her, watching television, falling asleep in an actual bed. It had been a real life, an ordinary life, unlike the one he was living now. If he was being honest, he didn't want to find out that that life had been a lie.

"Say it," he pleaded. "Say my name."

* * * * *

Diana was already up, dressed, and packing to leave when Mulder woke up, alone in bed. He sat up, looked around for his boxers, stalling while he tried to think of the right words to say. He always had been better at the nights before than the mornings after. Seeing that he was awake, Diana came over and sat next to him on the bed. Mulder pulled her closer, put his arms around her and kissed her gently. She began kissing him back, then stiffened.

"Morning breath? Sorry." Mulder started to head to the sink to brush his teeth but Diana stopped him.

"I found this on the floor when I got up this morning." She handed him a small gold cross. Scully's cross.

The chain was broken. It was thin and fragile, and too short besides.

"It's hers, isn't it?" Diana tried to put her hand on his shoulder, but he shook her off and sat back on the bed.

He must have broken a link last night when he pulled off his tee-shirt. He'd have to replace it with a new one when they got back to DC.

"I'm sorry. Did she give it to you?"

Mulder touched the necklace protectively. "No. Her mother gave it to me, the night I told her that her daughter had been taken. She...she told me to keep it, that I would give it back to Scully when I found her."

Diana was still for a moment, then got up and walked over to the motel window. She glanced through the curtain, then turned around to face him. "A.D. Skinner denied your request to enter and search the base. He wants you back in DC. I've been recalled back to Germany."

"You called Skinner," Mulder said, feeling aggrieved.

"Yes, I called Skinner. I was officially assigned to this investigation." Diana had that tone in her voice. "Given that this latest lead was a dead end, he couldn't justify keeping me here."

His boxers located, he pulled them on and stood up. "I'll talk to Skinner. Dammit, Diana. We're so close. I know it. I can feel it." He opened his bag and pulled out a clean shirt.

She stayed on the opposite side of the room. "I've got to get back to Washington today. I have my orders."

"I'm not letting this go, Diana."

"I'm not trying to stop you," she said quietly.

The drive back was uneventful. He wanted to tell her so many things, about his work on the X-Files, and about Scully. He wanted to ask her about her work, and her life. Not the details, he knew she couldn't tell him much. Just—was it worth it? Was she happy with the choice she'd made. He sensed a reserve that hadn't been there before, making it clear that sex had made her more closed off. Why couldn't he just tell her how he felt, ask her what he wanted—no—needed to know.

He had planned to drop Diana off at her hotel, but decided to let the valet park the car. Diana stopped him before he could hand over the keys.

"You don't have to come up," she said, avoiding his eyes. "Maybe it would be easier for both of us if you didn't.

Clearly he had misread her cues. It wouldn't be the first time, but it might be the last. "You're leaving me again."

She shook her head. "This isn't my choice."

Mulder wanted to believe her. "Take care of yourself, Diana."

The valet was standing ready. She kissed him quickly. "Good-bye, Fox."

Dammit. He still hadn't asked her about Scully's report. Some Mata Hari he was. He would talk to Skinner first, but he knew he'd be heading back to Skyland Mountain. If he had to go alone, he'd go alone.

 

**Chapter Eight**

 

The window glass was still sticky from the last time Mulder had placed the masking tape. He had to try one more time. He set up the gooseneck lamp to illuminate the X, flicked off the overhead light and sat back on his couch to wait.

It was already daybreak when he awoke with a start. He ran to the front door to get the morning paper. Opening the business section, he found a slip of paper with one word on it: "gorilla." He pulled on his running shoes, grabbed his Yankees baseball cap and sunglasses from the dresser and ran down to the elevator. The National Zoo opened at ten a.m. He could get some breakfast, maybe even go for a run and still be first in line. Maybe this time he would get some answers.

The great ape exhibit was designed to provide private areas where the gorillas could retreat when the crowds of staring humans became overwhelming. He settled down in front of the south end of the enclosure and waited. He remembered reading in National Geographic that lowland gorillas considered it impolite to stare, so he focused his attention instead at the visitors. It being a week-end, even as early as it was, many people were there: parents pushing babies in strollers, couples walking hand in hand. He pushed aside the thoughts of home and family these images inevitably brought up, even for him, confirmed as he was now to remaining unattached. There were so many reasons for that now: the search for Samantha and the truth behind her abduction, his obsession with his work, the poor role models in his own life for both marriage and parenting. Then there were the obvious risks to anyone who was closely associated with him. He and Scully weren't involved that way; shit, they weren't even officially partnered, and look what had happened to her.

Krycek. There was another festering wound on his psyche. "Trust no one" were Deep Throat's last words to Scully before he died, another martyr to the cause. What did Mulder do? He trusted the first person who came along and said the magic words. God, what an idiot he'd been. It was so easy, though, being partnered with him, after the year or so he'd spent with Scully, arguing with her about every case. Too easy. He'd liked the hero worship, too; he admitted it. Krycek's innocent face and fawning words had sucked him right in. He burned at the thought that even he who should have known better was not immune to the allure of pretty lies. All those pretty lies.

After 45 minutes, the informant Mulder called "X" made his appearance. He paused on the other side of the Gorilla enclosure without making eye contact, then headed toward the exit. Like Mulder, X was casually dressed; a plaid sport shirt, khaki pants and Sperry Topsiders instead of the customary suit, tie and wingtips. It's okay to murder people as long as we adhere to the official dress code. He could tell X didn't spend much time out of uniform. That outfit was a disaster. He waited a few beats and then started toward the exit himself, taking care to keep him just within visual.

When he reached the exit, X was waiting for him. He did not look happy. "Agent Mulder. You are continuing to investigate Agent Scully's disappearance, despite my warnings of the danger. Worse yet, you have involved another agent. How many more people will suffer for your obsession, how many, Agent Mulder? You must stop immediately. I cannot help you in this."

Mulder didn't know why he'd bothered showing up. "You know I won't stop looking for Scully. I can't stop now, I'm too close. Don't worry about Agent Fowley, she's been ordered back to Germany. I won't allow another agent to be assigned to the X-files."

X laughed unpleasantly. "What makes you think you control who gets assigned to work with you?"

X had a point. "That's not exactly breaking news. Can you at least confirm for me the existence of project 'White Rabbit'?" Seeing X's eyes narrow slightly at the name, Mulder continued, "I have uncovered evidence of multi-generational abductions of women and girls, ranging in age from 12 to 32, all from the same family. Some women were taken and returned after a few days, some after two weeks. Two women were missing for three months. All were taken from Skyland Mountain, and all were eventually returned. Why were these women taken? Does this have any connection with Scully?" _Or was this just a case of me disappearing down the rabbit hole?_

X looked steadily at Mulder. "I can't tell you what I don't know, Agent Mulder. There may be a connection. But I do have something for you to think about. How well did you know your partner? Think about that and think carefully about your next move. There is more at stake here than the life of a single FBI agent. If you're killed, the search for the truth dies with you." His face softened ever so slightly. "I will promise you this. If I do hear or see any information relevant to Agent Scully's whereabouts, I will do my best to get it to you."

Mulder stood watching as the man got into his car and drove off. "How well do you know your partner?" What the hell was that supposed to mean? She's brilliant, a great investigator, trustworthy, loyal to a fault. She's brave. Serious about the work. She kept me in line, kept me honest. Her character was above reproach.

Jesus, first Diana, now X was trying to undermine his feelings for Scully. He could still hear her soft, clear voice in his office that day, see her small, earnest face, looking into his eyes, as she confronted for the first time the reality of being an FBI Agent on the X-Files. "You're the only one that I trust, Mulder."

"Then you are going to have to trust me," he had told her. As things had turned out, he was the last person Scully should have trusted.

With Diana gone and his informant unable or unwilling to help him, Mulder was forced to sort through the facts of the case on his own. The problem was that the facts didn't make any sense. Mulder couldn't see what a brilliant forensic pathologist, a Special Agent of the FBI, could have in common with the women in the McKinney clan. Scully was a scientist, she had never been married, she had no children and had never even been pregnant. Though raised a Catholic, she no longer practiced. Other than being a young woman of child-bearing age who was also abducted from Skyland Mountain, Scully was utterly unlike these women. None of them had more than a high school education, they were all devout Southern Baptists, they were all wives, most were mothers. They all believed they had been abducted multiple times by aliens and subjected to tests. But he was certain the tests had been conducted by men, and the place they were being held was not a ship. He was missing a key clue, he was sure of it: there was something just out of reach.

It was nearly noon. He just had time to get back to his apartment to get cleaned up in time for his appointment with Skinner. And he should go see Maggie Scully, too. Not that there was anything new to report, but it was the right thing to do. And Marie. He needed to call Marie, make sure she was okay.

* * * * *

The meeting with Skinner went about as expected. He told the A.D. as much as possible about what he had uncovered, leaving out the illegal hacking and the Lone Gunmen's involvement. Skinner was not buying what he was selling, however, and did not authorize a search of the base and its immediate vicinity, or any further official inquiry into the McKinney family. "No one is currently reported missing, there is no physical evidence to corroborate their stories, and there is nothing you have shown me that ties them to Agent Scully's disappearance."

Mulder wasn't surprised by this. While he was there, he also updated Skinner on the Vampire wannabees serial murder case and dutifully submitted the paper work.

"There is one other thing, Sir. There was another case I was on that involved my unauthorized entry onto a military facility," Mulder began.

Skinner broke in. "Agent Mulder, are you sure you want to tell me about this, because it sounds like the less I know about it, the better."

"It was early in my partnership with Scully. Our second case together. I just need to know if Scully included it in her report to Section Chief Blevins," Mulder said, wondering why was he pressing Skinner on this since he was shortly planning to do a repeat, minus Scully as back-up. Who was going to come to his rescue this time? He had better make sure he didn't get caught.

Skinner looked annoyed. "I think I would have remembered something like that, Agent Mulder, and so would you, since you would have had your ass kicked. Is there anything else?"

"No, Sir." Mulder supposed he would have to ask the guys try to hack Blevins' computer just to make sure. And that wouldn't explain how Diana had gotten access.

Mulder called ahead to let Mrs. Scully know he was coming. On the drive up to Baltimore, Mulder pondered what his next move would be. Clearly his approach would have to change. Interviewing more Mufon women was starting to look like searching for a needle in a haystack, but with less chance of success. His show of bravado notwithstanding, Mulder hated the idea of going to Wiekamp Air Force Base without backup. Despite what everyone seemed to think, Mulder didn't have a death wish. Could he do it, even with the help of the Gunmen? Did he even know what he was looking for?

Nearly three months of investigation, with almost nothing to show for it. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd failed. This was worse in a way than the loss of Samantha. He knew without question that what had happened to his sister was not his fault, no matter what kind of guilt his parents had attempted to displace onto him. They needed someone to blame, he was a convenient scapegoat. After Samantha was taken, Mulder had pretty much raised himself. There was no longer a sense of family, nor was attention paid to what he was struggling through. Mulder knew his ability to trust other people had been damaged by the events of his childhood. After Diana left him, Mulder had accepted the necessity of a solitary life, perhaps feeling that it was all he deserved.

When Dana Scully had been assigned to the X-Files, Mulder had not wanted to trust her, he didn't believe he'd work with her for very long; after all, she was a spy. She was there to debunk his work. She wrote up her little reports for Blevins and didn't pull any punches in them either. But slowly, he'd come to trust her integrity, to believe in her loyalty, to depend on her judgment. Scully was his partner and she was his friend. He'd been told again and again that his actions were putting her at risk and making her a target, yet he did nothing to help ensure her safety. Even after the X-Files were closed and she was away from him, teaching again at Quantico, against his better judgment, he'd called her, wanting her expertise at his beck and call. Wanting her. Now he was facing the possibility of never seeing her again, even worse, that his actions may have resulted in her death. He was no longer a 12-year-old boy. He was a man, a deeply selfish, tragically flawed man. He didn't know if he could ever forgive himself.

It was in this frame of mind that Mulder met Maggie Scully at the front door.

"Come in, Fox. The news isn't good, is it?" she said, searching his face. Mulder followed her into the living room. He sat on the edge of the sofa, wishing he were anywhere else.

"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Scully. I have nothing new to tell you. I was able to get the investigation into her disappearance reopened; we did follow up on what appeared to be a lead, but I still haven't found Dana."

Mrs. Scully looked sad but resigned. "Let me make you a cup of tea before you go. There is something I want to talk to you about." Since Mulder didn't have the nerve to tell her he didn't drink hot tea, he figured he would just sit with the cup and saucer balanced on his lap until it was time for him to leave.

She returned with a brochure, which she handed to Mulder along with the tea. When he saw what it was for, he nearly dropped the teacup onto the rug. It was inconceivable to him that she would even be considering having a gravestone made for her daughter. She hadn't even been gone three months! Samantha had been taken over 20 years ago and he hadn't given up on finding her. He damn sure wasn't ready to give up on finding Scully.

"You believe she's already dead. I don't get how you can feel that way, how you can just give up on her like that," Mulder blurted out.

"I know you don't, Fox. How can I explain this? Do you remember the recurring dream I told you about, the one about Dana being taken from me? I had it before she was kidnapped, and continued to have it ever since," said Mrs. Scully.

Mulder was getting that tight feeling in his chest again. He answered her with as much calm as he could muster. "Yes, I do."

"Do you remember what you told me about it?"

 _Fuck._ Mulder nodded. "I, I told you that it would be more frightening if you stopped having the dream. But it could mean a lot of things, or nothing at all. It doesn't mean Dana's gone, Mrs. Scully."

But it might mean that she's running out of time.

 

**Chapter Nine**

 

Having exhausted his options and topped off his guilt tank, Mulder was now resigned to heading back to Wiekamp Air Force Base. The only question was when. It was already nearly five o'clock. Rush hour traffic would add at least an hour to his drive time, stopping off at his apartment another thirty minutes, a side trip to the Gunmen's for intel on the base and it was starting to look like a late one. Oh well. He'd probably be up half the night anyway, worrying about Scully. At least this way, he'd be doing something more constructive than watching late-night infomercials. Mulder headed to the Gunmen's.

"We think this plan is ill-conceived," Byers began.

Langly was scornful. "Yeah, Mulder, what are you trying to do?"

Frohike just shook his head. "There's left-over pizza in the kitchen. If you are going to die, you might as well eat first."

While munching cold pizza, he let the Gunmen fill him in on the latest news. Mulder was right. It looked like the McKinney women were part of the White Rabbit data base. Jenny's social security number had been added. Scully's had not.

"That's going to be the last update for awhile. The Thinker thinks they're onto him. He's going underground."

Mulder didn't know how much more underground an illegal hacker could get.

The Gunmen's kung fu really was the best. They had downloaded a detailed map of the base, the surrounding terrain, and the access roads. As he had suspected, there were rail lines close by. If there were tracks, there had to be trains. Mulder thought train cars were a perfect way to hide abductees. Keeping them traveling would hinder the women from ever having a sense of where they were. The movement of the compartments they were being held in, the mechanical noises, the sensations of braking and acceleration. It all pointed to rail. Okay, maybe they could be aboard spaceships, but wasn't it better to look for horses rather than unicorns? Scully would be proud.

There was a light shining in his apartment window. He was certain he hadn't left a light on. He parked his car and got out, looked around cautiously, and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Then he kicked the door open.

"Federal agent! Identify yourself!"

Diana was sitting on the far end of his couch, her face softly lit by the small table lamp. Her dark hair was pulled back, and she was dressed all in black: jeans, turtleneck, sturdy boots; a warm jacket lay by her side. She looked dangerous. She looked –- good.

"It looks like you've been out shopping. Why did you turn on the light?" Mulder put down his gun and locked the door.

Diana seemed amused. "Because it was dark? I didn't realize I was supposed to be hiding."

"How did you get in?" Mulder was not amused.

"I still have keys," she reminded him. "You never changed the locks."

Mulder had been too shocked by her departure to ask for her keys. Besides, he had thought at the time that the separation was temporary. "I thought I could convince you to come back," he said without emotion. "Why did you come here?"

She looked down at her hands. "I knew you would be heading back to the base. I couldn't let you go alone."

At least she hadn't left him this time, although he was dismayed by how predictable he'd become. "Look, I talked to Skinner. He said there was nothing in my file about my misadventure in Idaho, nothing about what they did to me, nothing about my entering the base at all."

Diana looked worried. "Should we be discussing this here?" she said in a low tone. Mulder had to agree. If they were to find out how she got that information, it could be a problem. He found a pencil and a pad of paper and handed it to her. She wrote: "Maybe it isn't there now, but I know what I saw. I'll get someone I trust to look on my hard drive. Maybe they can recover the file."

Not what he wanted to hear, but it would have to do. Now he needed to go find his partner.

* * * * *

Unlike Ellens, where security was so lax that Mulder had been able to breach it with a short hike through some tall grass, Wiekamp Airforce Base was a fortress. It was fenced in on all sides and, according to the Gunmen's intel, heavily patrolled, probably because of its relative proximity to fairly populated areas in Virginia. If spaceships were coming and going from here, they could hardly be missed, which was another reason Mulder thought another, less conspicuous form of transportation had to be used.

Of course, he was still hoping for spaceships.

Rail fit what the women had told them about where they were being held. Adding in the maneuverability of the current generation of military helicopters, it seemed easy enough to get the abductees in and out of the vicinity of Skyland Mountain for processing and testing. There could be facilities like this all over the U.S. Mulder shuddered. Don't think about it. It isn't helping her or any of the other women.

As expected, the base and its approach roads were secured. The tracks that Mulder wanted to look at were inconveniently located behind the base. Mulder turned the Mercedes around and headed back to the interstate. There was another way in, but they would have to walk. And then they would have to get lucky.

The wide strip of land behind the railroad tracks backed up to land Virginia had designated state forest. If he was right, they could drive a short distance into the forest, walk down as far as that strip, and then follow the train tracks themselves. Eventually they'd see trains, they'd see helicopters and they'd see women. He was praying he'd find Scully. Mulder was prepared to wait. He had plenty of water and protein bars. He had flashlights, extra batteries, and some night vision goggles he'd borrowed from Frohike. He had his gun, although if he used it he was probably going to land in a military jail. He was ready for that possibility. He assumed Diana was as well.

It was nearly midnight by the time they arrived at the forest clearing. The land that was just a strip of yellow on a map turned out to be someone's field, which would allow the authorities to add trespassing to the list of official charges if they got caught. Carefully, silently, Diana and Mulder made their way through the rows of corn stalks. It was well past harvest and the stalks were dried out and empty. Soon the farmer would be clearing the land, strip tilling the detritus under. Then the soil fungi and earthworms would do their part to break down the remainder, leaving little to remind the casual onlooker of what had been planted the season before. In the spring the fields would be replanted, perhaps with soybeans this time, and the cycle would begin again, death making way for rebirth. Mulder wondered if when he died he could fertilize a field instead of rotting away in a coffin for eternity, or for however long a coffin really lasted. A couple of years at most, he guessed.

Mrs. Scully had bought a headstone and a plot to go with it, presumably. No coffin, he imagined. If there was one, it would be empty. Would it be better to know for certain what had happened to Samantha? Mulder wasn't sure he even wanted to find out if the result was just another empty grave. In his mind, his search for her always ended with a reunion, not a funeral.

"You're so quiet, Fox," Diana murmured.

"Yeah. I'm thinking about Scully." Not quite a lie. He glanced over at Diana, who looked, just for a moment, unspeakably sad. When he looked again she'd returned to her normal, unflappable self. Had he imagined it? "Watch your step, there's a ditch here." He held the intense narrow-beamed light in front of him. "Let's start heading back toward the base. We'll hit the tracks eventually."

After two miles, they found the train tracks. Following the tracks, they made better time, and found themselves in short order within sight of the lights of the base.

"Let's wait here. See what shows up. Here, have a protein bar." Mulder reached into his knapsack and pulled out his canteen and two chocolate chip granola bars, offering one to Diana. They weren't too terrible he remembered, biting into one. Huh. They weren't too good either. Maybe he was hungrier the last time. Grimacing, he sat down on a grassy area away from the tracks, and patted the ground next to him. Sighing, Diana sat, pulled her water bottle from out of her fanny pack, and took a long drink.

Four a.m. came and went, as did six other chocolate-chip granola bars (they were small), and a bag of seeds. No trains, no planes, no spaceships were sighted. By six a.m., Mulder had described and refuted Jung's theory that images of flying saucers occurred as a manifestation of societal anxieties about perceived cataclysmic changes in the near future. He then discussed the philosophical and moral issues surrounding cloning in "The Ophiuchi Hotline," and had begun reciting every poem he'd ever memorized. Sensing he was beginning to lose his audience after "Little Gidding," he asked Diana if she liked W.S. Merwin.

"I don't know whether I do or not. Try one," she suggested. "Just--no more Eliot, all right?"

"Too many obscure mythological allusions?" Mulder ventured.

"Too depressing," she replied, without looking up.

"You might not like this either, then, but I find it oddly comforting." He began to recite.

"For the Anniversary of My Death.

Every year without knowing it

I have passed the day

When the last fires will wave to me

And the silence will set out

Tireless traveler

Like the beam of a lightless star..."

Before he could finish, he noticed Diana looking at her watch. "Sunrise is at 7:22. We need to be back at the car before the farm is up and stirring or come up with a good reason we're trespassing."

Her face was unchanged.

"We're federal agents on a stake-out," he proposed half-seriously.

"Staking out what? Fox. We need to go. We've been here for hours and haven't seen so much as a plane land."

Now she sounded exasperated.

"Wait a second. Do you hear that? It's faint but..." He rummaged through his pack for the binoculars, threw them down and got out the night goggles. He threw them down too, since there was nothing to see. "I think it's a train. The track curves and it's too far away to hear clearly. Let's just wait a bit longer and try to get closer." He started jogging, then running alongside the track.

"Wait. You aren't going to be able to see anything. If you get close enough, you'll get caught, just like last time. Please, let's just go back," Diana pleaded, walking quickly toward him.

He turned around, jogging in place, then stopped, seeing her face. "You can go back if you want. I need to get to that base. I need to find Scully. It doesn't matter what happens to me," he said, knowing exactly how it sounded. Stupid. Desperate. Like suicide by cop. Fuck it. He didn't care, he was going. Let Diana do what she needed to do. He started to turn back around.

To his amazement, Diana pulled out her gun. "Put your hands where I can see them," she said flatly.

"What's going on?" He put his hands up slowly as she advanced toward him, her gun pointed at his groin.

Without taking her eyes off Mulder, she got out her handcuffs. "Get down on the ground, face down, you know the drill."

"Diana. What the hell are you doing?" He went to his knees, and then flat on the ground. The ground was as cold and hard as her voice.

"Hands behind your back." She efficiently snapped the handcuffs in place, then pulled out his set and snapped them around his ankles.

"Shit. That hurts," he protested. He could hear the sound of a cellphone being dialed. One button. Speed dial, then, pre-programmed speed dial.

"I'm sorry, Fox. It won't be long now," she said, keeping her gun pointed at him.

In the distance, he could hear the percussive sounds of the train engine growing louder, bringing the truth closer.

 

**Chapter Ten**

"How long?" Mulder asked, the bile rising in his throat. He fought back a surge of nausea.

Diana didn't hesitate. "Do you really want to know the answer to that question? Fine. Right from the beginning." She sounded bitter. Mulder was silent, waiting to see what else she'd reveal. "I'm sorry, Fox. I didn't want to get involved in this. As far as I knew, we were never going to see one another again."

Mulder heard X's voice: "How well do you know your partner?" Damn. Damn, damn. That was what X had meant. It wasn't about Scully at all. Before he could question Diana any further, he heard a car pull up. Great. Enter the goon squad.

"Mulder. Fancy meeting you here." That rat bastard. Mulder knew it was futile but he started trying to get out of the restraints.

"Go ahead. Try to get away. I'd enjoy beating you up, Mulder. Hell, I'd feel fine about killing you, too." Krycek uncuffed Mulder's ankles and dragged him roughly to his feet. "Get up." No more squeaky clean preppy look for Krycek. In his tee-shirt, faded jeans, and leather jacket, he looked every inch the dangerous thug Mulder should have spotted him for in the first place. Some profiler he was. Krycek pushed Mulder toward the car, the hard cold nose of the Glock pressing into his shoulders. Krycek opened the door of the old Chrysler station wagon, shoved Mulder face down on the bench seat, then snapped the cuffs back on.

Krycek rolled down the window. "Get in, Diana. We don't want to keep the doctor waiting." Doctor. Mulder didn't like the sound of that. He heard the passenger door open and felt the vehicle shift slightly as she sat down. Without waiting for her to buckle up, Krycek put the wagon into gear and peeled out.

Diana leaned over the back of the front seat. "We're taking you to the base."

Finally things were looking up. Though arriving in handcuffs was not part of the original plan, the base was exactly where Mulder wanted to go.

Even in the roomy Town and Country, Mulder was starting to feel painfully cramped. He struggled to shift into a more comfortable position, not an easy task with both his arms and legs restrained. Ugh. Now his back was starting to spasm. Before the pain became unbearable, the car stopped. Krycek opened the door and unlocked the cuffs on his legs.

"Don't try anything stupid, Mulder. Get out." There was no chance of that, with his legs cramping and his back in spasm.

"I can't move. You're going to have to help me out." Mulder felt as helpless as a tortoise who'd been turned over onto its back. He grimaced. Well, at least the bastard wasn't going to try anything stupid with Diana there as a witness. Even if he did, he didn't think she'd stand back and watch.

The passenger door opened. "Go ahead, Alex. Help him out. I've got you covered," Diana instructed.

Krycek set the gun on top of the wagon, and put his arms around Mulder's waist, pulling him back out of the car, his hands lingering just a little too long. Mulder had suspected there was some attraction there. That at least was one mistake he didn't make with Krycek. Oh god, Scully. I'm so sorry.

They were just a few hundred feet from the passenger train, which had stopped directly behind the landing field. This was his last chance to get some answers. "What are they going to do with me?" Mulder figured if they wanted him dead, Krycek would have killed him even if Diana hadn't been able to pull the trigger.

"You'll be returned, minus only the memories of the last couple of days." Diana refused to meet his eyes.

"And of your part in it. Why did you did do it, Diana?"

Diana turned to Krycek. "Give us a couple of minutes."

"Why? He isn't going to remember anything you say anyway," Krycek sneered. But he turned and walked ahead, leaving them alone.

Diana's face was in shadows, her eyes gleaming. "Because I wanted to know the truth. Just like you do. Working for the Consortium gave me access and it gave me answers," Diana said sharply. "Not that it matters now, but it wasn't my choice to leave you, that was made for me." She put her hand on his arm. Mulder shrugged her off. "I'm sorry for that. I never should have come back to the States. I'm a terrible liar."

"You look pretty good at it from where I'm standing," Mulder rasped. "And you don't look all that sorry either." They had nearly caught up with Krycek, who was standing at the foot of the train car's steps. "Was any of it real?" Mulder wasn't sure why he was asking. What did it matter?

"Yes," she whispered. "I am sorry," she said again, turning away.

"Wait. Don't leave me here alone, Diana."

She looked down. "I have to go. I can't help you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she said as though the repetition could make it better. Make it real.

Maybe for her, it was.

He stepped past Krycek up into the train car, the brightness of the overhead lights temporarily blinding him.

He squinted at first. As his vision cleared, he could see the exam table, with its leather restraints, some unfamiliar metal instruments on a gleaming stainless steel tray, and a large piece of equipment resembling an x-ray machine with a small drill head on the end of it. He looked carefully, trying to memorize everything, imprint it into his brain. He looked around at the assembled group, all human males, all masked, gowned and gloved, as though they were ready to perform surgery. Which he realized with a start, they were. On him.

"Hello, Agent Mulder. We're ready for you now."

* * * * *

Diana unlocked the motel room door with the key she had easily obtained from the desk clerk who remembered the Mercedes from their first stay. Mulder was sprawled across the double bed where he had been dumped by Krycek. She sighed. This was so unfortunate, so unnecessary, not at all what she wanted for Fox. She had agreed to come back hoping to prevent exactly this sort of scenario. She had failed. Instead, he had gotten too close, and the Consortium had to stop him, just as they had in Idaho, using methods that even their doctors admitted were still experimental. She was being sent back to Europe, leaving Dana Scully still in the hands of the same men who had mind-wiped her self-appointed savior of the events of the past two days. Diana hoped that was all they had erased.

Sitting next to him on the mattress, she began stroking his head, speaking to him softly to try to rouse him. When there was no response, she tried shaking him gently, then a little more forcefully. "Fox! Wake up!" He stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes. Damn. He was really out of it. She gingerly pried open one of his eyelids. His pupils were really dilated.

If she let him stay and sleep it off, he'd just want to head back to interview the Mufon women as soon as he woke and start this mess all over again. She had no idea of the possible consequences to the brain of repeated intrusions like this but she was certain there were going to be some. He was never going to give up on searching for his former partner any more than he had given up on searching for his sister. Maybe she could at least convince those idiots to return her. Surely, after what Agent Scully'd been through, she'd be ready to resign from the FBI to try to lead a normal life. She picked up her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

"Hello? I need an ambulance. I have a federal agent unconscious in a motel room, possible drug overdose."

 

"You need to take a few days off, Agent Mulder. Get some rest. It's nearly the weekend. How about I clear you for duty on Monday, on the condition that you come back to ER for worsening symptoms like headache, blurred vision..." the doctor droned on. Mulder nodded at the appropriate intervals.

God, he missed Scully. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if she'd been here. He shook his head, the resulting dizziness forcing him to lie back down. Fuck. What was wrong with him? None of this would have happened if she'd been here.

"Agent Mulder? Is something wrong? You're not looking like a man who's ready for discharge. Maybe we do need to get a repeat of that head CT." The doctor pulled out a penlight and directed it at Mulder's eyes. He seemed dissatisfied with the result, remaining at the bedside, his arms crossed over his chest.

Mulder sighed. "I just got a little dizzy from moving my head. I'll be more careful." How long did it usually take to get a repeat head CT? At Memorial, several days might not do it, unless it looked like an emergency.

"We'll make sure he's not left alone, Dr. Boyd," Byers interjected.

"We'll take turns staying with him," Langly added.

"Don't worry. We'll make sure his ass is back in here at the least sign of trouble," Frohike said confidently.

At last the test was completed, the results were read, and Mulder was discharged home. He kicked the Gunmen out as soon as he thought he could get away with it. His head still felt fuzzy. His recall of the past two days was fuzzy, too, which was disconcerting. He remembered driving up to Skyland Mountain with Diana, doing the interviews, being summoned back to DC and Diana being recalled to Germany. Did he even get to say good-bye to her? He remembered seeing X at the zoo, his visit with Mrs. Scully, and his resolve to return to Skyland Mountain without Diana to search the base. From there, things got murky. According to Diana, she had found him unconscious back at the motel and called the paramedics, who then medevaced him back to DC. This left him wondering how and why she was even back at Skyland Mountain, let alone in his room at that motel. Unfortunately, she had flown back to Germany that same day. Night. Whenever. Maybe she'd explained in the report she'd written for Skinner.

Once home, Mulder tried to do what the doctor had instructed, but somehow sleep eluded him. He'd lie on his couch, remote in hand, find something to watch, settle in for the night. Nothing. He felt as though his brain was on fire from going over and over the memories he did have, trying to put in the missing pieces. Intermittently, as he was on the verge of nodding off, he'd get what he suspected was a flash of recall—trees—a sensation of movement—blinding overhead lights in his eyes. Were these memories or merely waking dreams? He couldn't tell. He was certain he had gotten onto that base. He was certain he'd seen something they didn't want him to remember, that they'd done something to his brain to make him forget. He didn't know if he would ever get those two days back and the thought of it was haunting him. What if he'd found Scully?

* * * * *

Mulder sat stiffly, as Skinner looked over the paperwork.

"So. Vampires?" Skinner said.

Mulder shifted in his chair. "Killers who believe they are vampires," he corrected. "The same three sickos who killed three people in Memphis and again in Portland. My profile predicted they'd resurface in three months to begin killing again, which they now have in Los Angeles. In their world, bad things really do come in threes."

Skinner did that little thing with his neck that indicated he was going to say something that made him uncomfortable. Fuck. There was nothing wrong with that 302.

Skinner cleared his throat. "Agent Mulder. I know you've been cleared for active duty but since Agent Fowley has been recalled to Germany I'd like to assign another agent to accompany you on this case."

Mulder glared at his boss. "Because that worked out so well the last time you tried it. Two words, sir. Alex Krycek."

"I didn't assign him to that case and you know it," Skinner glowered.

"And while we're on the subject of Diana, why are the case report she wrote and the tape recordings we made of the hypnosis sessions being kept from me?" Mulder demanded.

"Because, as you have been told repeatedly, that information is now classified, Agent Mulder."

"It's my case! I have the right to that file. I have the right to know what happened to me, to know what they might be doing to Agent Scully."

"Look. I happen to agree with you, but the decision wasn't up to me. I have no idea what kind of shit pile you and Diana stepped in, but I'm thinking you're both lucky you still have careers."

Lucky, right.

Skinner tapped on the paperwork. "I don't feel comfortable sending you out on a case like this without back-up, without a partner. Sooner or later—"

"I have a partner, Sir," Mulder said firmly. "And if there isn't anything else, I have a plane to catch." He rose, intending to leave.

"Did I say you were dismissed? Sit back down." Mulder rolled his eyes but he sat. "Working cases alone is dangerous. Maybe you've cleaned up your act to some extent but you still aren't one hundred per cent. You can't go on like this, Mulder," Skinner said quietly. "Sooner or later, I'm going to have to assign another agent to the division."

With his kind of luck, it wouldn't be long before Skinner could assign two new agents to the X-Files division. No. He still had work to do. He wasn't giving in, not as long as the truth was out there. I can't go on, I'll go on. I can't go on, I'll go on.

Skinner said sharply, "Agent Mulder, I said you're dismissed."

Mulder stood up, nodded, and left. _I can't go on. I'll go on_.

 

**Epilogue**

East 46th Street, New York City

When the nondescript apartment building had been purchased by the Consortium in the early sixties, its leadership saw it as a way to keep costs down while providing the organization with a revenue stream. It looked like an ordinary enough building from the outside. Gray brick, only twelve stories, the only distinguishing feature the curved top floor terraces that cantilevered out over the terraces on the floor directly below, giving it an appearance reminiscent of an ocean liner. They also made excellent listening posts if one strategically left a window ever so slightly ajar. Alex Krycek stood out on one of those terraces, peering in at the assembly, waiting to be called for his report, listening to the Elders discuss the month's agenda. He hoped they were prepared to give his intel on Mulder serious consideration this time.

The Elder whom Krycek thought of as the Fat Man was weighing in, droning on in his all too familiar nasal monotone. "Reagan has Alzheimer's disease."

The Smoking Man was up next. "Well, that certainly explains some things."

"They're making the announcement tomorrow. The other one..." The Fat Man paused, then glanced over at the Smoker.

"President Clinton is going to be much too busy worrying about who is going to tattle on him next to be a concern for us," the Smoker said smoothly, flicking his ash onto the plush maroon carpet. "He's been effectively neutralized by his own libido."

The Fat Man grunted, looking at his agenda. "The Mulder matter. Where is Krycek?"

Krycek stepped back, exited and entered again through the front door, where he was buzzed into the conference room.

The Well-Manicured Man was already talking. "You realize he'll never give up his search for Agent Scully now. He's gotten too close. Regretfully, I feel it's time to consider—other options—for Agent Mulder."

The Fat Man's frown got even deeper. "I thought Agent Fowley was supposed to be hindering him. Instead, it looked as though she might actually be helping him, aiding his search."

The Smoker exhaled. "We may have under-estimated her attachment to Mulder. And after all, he is an attractive man..."

That's an understatement. Krycek lowered his eyes.

The Smoking Man paused to inhale again. "She came through for us in the end. In any case, she's been recalled to her European assignment. I believe Mulder has been effectively neutralized. Without Agent Scully, without Diana, he'll probably start drinking again, just like his father," he said, feigning indifference.

Krycek snorted.

"Did you have something to say, **Alex**. You were called here to give us an update. Go ahead, tell us what you think about Agent Mulder. You got to know him rather well rather quickly, didn't you?"

I was doing my job, you sanctimonious asshole. Krycek straightened up and cleared his throat. "I think you're wrong about Agent Mulder. I don't believe you know him as well as you think you do. He's relentless—and you said it yourself," he nodded at the Well-Manicured Man. "He's gotten very close this time. Return her. Return Scully to him. That's what will stop the search."

The Well-Manicured Man looked incredulous. "We can't allow her to return to him. He feels she is essential to the work now. Essential to his well-being."

Krycek shrugged. "So don't. Give her back, but not all the way back. Return her in a vegetative state like those kids in Bellefleur. How hard can that be?"

The Fat Man narrowed his eyes. "That was not our affair, as you know, Alex. We are not the only agency at work here."

The Smoking Man looked interested. "What a coincidence. Agent Fowley suggested the same thing. Maybe we can reach a consensus on this after all. We'll let him see what we've wrought, what her association with him has cost her. His facility for taking on guilt is well-known. Are we agreed?"

Krycek was silently triumphant, but merely nodded.

"It will break him, losing her for good. We'll never have to worry about him again." Krycek looked around at the assembly of old men, sitting in their leather club chairs, arrogantly passing judgment, deciding who lives and who dies. All heads nodded. Yes. Yes. Yes.

The Smoking Man looked satisfied. "He's in Los Angeles on a case right now."

The Fat Man nodded. "Fine. We'll wait for his return. We need to move on to the next item. I'm ready for this to be over."

Krycek stepped back into the shadows. Over? As long as we can still breathe, it's never going to be over, not for any of you, not for me, and certainly not for Mulder. He'll never quit now. If anything this will make him more convinced that his cause is righteous. These men are fools, Mulder. There will be a place at that table waiting for me sooner than you think. Waiting for you, if you ever get your head out of your ass.

 

Club Tepes, Hollywood

Though unshaven, dressed as inappropriately as a debutante at a Hell's Angels convention, and feeling as tired as he'd ever been in his life, Mulder could still feel the eyes of the club's patrons measuring him as he made his way to the bar, and not all were finding him wanting. He was kicking himself for leaving his leather jacket behind in DC when he spotted her. Dark hair pulled up demurely and fastened in a casual knot, black miniskirt showing off long legs in spiked black high-heels. Ivory silk blouse unbuttoned to reveal her snow white breasts. Blood red lipstick, carefully applied. She had her compact open. No mirror, though. Curious. She was alone but she wouldn't be for long. She looked good.

Dammit. You are here to find your perp not to get laid. You need to focus. As it turned out, he didn't have to do a thing. She made the first move.

"Are you about to ask me what a normal person like me is doing in a place like this?"

"How do you define normal?" It had been a long time but he could still play this game.

She smiled and ordered his wine. Red, of course. Then he spotted the veterinary needles in her open clutch, the plastic green caps identical to those from the crime scene. Just that quickly, the game turned deadly. So far, they'd only taken one victim. He could still save two innocent lives. He could solve this case, fly back to DC, drive back to Skyland Mountain, look again for Scully.

How could he gain this woman's trust? He wasn't sure he could do it—give her what she wanted from him. Allow her to pierce his flesh, let her taste his blood. He raised his glass to toast. "He who drinks my blood..."

"...shall have eternal life." She smiled so sweetly, as she sipped from her glass and said the words that branded her a suspect. Even if she was somehow involved, at least she was still alive. Maybe he could save her, too.

The real question, Mulder thought bleakly, as he let her take him by the hand and lead him back into the shadows to feed and be fed upon, was who was going to save him?

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story nearly four years ago in March of 2007, so it predates my Live Journal birthday by a few weeks. I wrote most of the first draft on paper in pretty notebooks with Coptic binding by PaperBlanks. After I saw season two for the first time, I just could not believe that Mulder would give up looking for Scully. She was his partner and to paraphrase Sam Spade, when someone kidnaps your partner you're supposed to do something about it. It was the first piece of fanfiction I attempted. Not surprisingly, I've had to revise it a few times over the years. Its structure was undoubtedly influenced by my favorite book from childhood, _A Wrinkle in Time_ by Madeleine L'Engle.
> 
> "I can't go on, I'll go on," is the closing line from _The Unnameable_ by Samuel Beckett.
> 
> The full text to W.S. Merwin's poem, "For the Anniversary of My Death," can be found [here](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=171868).
> 
> The title for "Hope Without Reason" was inspired by the story "Synesthesia," by Haphazard Method, found at Gossamer.
> 
>  
> 
> _"I searched forever. Like a madman. And all I found was that a Ph.D and years of investigative training were completely useless. One day you simply reappeared in the hospital. The only thing I could do was sit by your bed and hope beyond reason that you heard me or felt me, and that you would come back to me."_


End file.
